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Self contempt and discovery lead to opportunity.

His hand drifted lower, possessively caressing the rise of her ass, his index finger gently stroking along the cleft. He bent his face to her shoulder, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, and then his tongue traced delicately along the ridge of the blade before withdrawing.

Before the burning heat of the first connection between palm and bottom washed through her body, she heard the sound, echoing from the corners of the small bedroom. Without her vision, it somehow seemed even louder, as if outside, birds must be leaping startled from telephone wires, and passers-by must be staring up at the windows of the building. The ripples of the impact made her whole body shudder, and she could feel the blood rush to the surface. Somewhere in her throat, she made a mewling sound, but she knew not to cry out. Not yet.

Slowly, gently, he caressed her skin with a touch lighter than the air currents that had chilled her. He kissed the side of her neck, sucking at the skin, nibbling slightly with his canine teeth. Then, all at once, again: like the crack of a whip, or the sudden attack of a cobra in a nature special, a blaze of pain that spread before she was even certain it had happened. That was the one thing she hated, the quickness of it all; she tried to savour the afterglow each time, to allow it to suffuse her body like the warmth of drinking wine. She squeezed her eyes tighter shut behind the blindfold, so even the field of her vision shone red.

Like a storm increasing in fury, he spanked her harder, the tempo increasing to a steady, staccato beat up and down the slope of her ass, down the tops of her thighs, driving her body against the mattress as if it were another lover below her, shoving hard into her pelvis, grinding roughly against her until the hood of her clitoris was lifted and the sensitive flesh beneath was shoved hard into the sheets. She rocked her hips forward with each impact, heightening the sensation, struggling against her restraints as much for show as from any desire to take a more active role, then pushed smoothly back up waiting for the next crash, obediently, offering her cherry-red bottom for his further use and abuse.

He knelt on the mattress beside her by this point, she could feel that his weight was distributed now along a tripod - his two knees, and the free hand - and he was close enough that, in between the lightning flashes of each powerful stroke, she could feel the pendulum of his maddeningly erect cock rub up against the outside of her thigh, or her hip, or along the raw flesh of one cheek as he bent down to kiss a path along her spine. The tip was slick, gliding wetly, skating across her skin, and that was when she couldn't hold back a moan any longer - luckily, he smacked her harder than ever just at that moment, and she turned it into a cry. If he knew how badly she wanted him, it would become part of the torture to hold himself back.

He kept beating on her ass, forcing her down, and she could feel the first stirrings, between the heat, of something deeper, something more - the welling up of an orgasm to come, filling the void darkly, like blood rising to fill the valley of a cut. She began to pant, rocking harder against the bed, crying out and pushing back into each smack, forcing the tempo faster. In a move that was half regaining control and half a reward, he almost-brutally slid three fingers of his free hand beneath her and into her cunt, impaling her on them, and she screamed, the rising pleasure jumping from simmer to a rolling boil, almost beyond the point of no return -

- and then he withdrew for a moment, drawing her back from the brink, though she whimpered and arched her back against him, trying to force herself back into his hands.

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