Page 100 of Savage Obsession

“Are you ready?” My tone is thicker, almost gruff. I shift my cock in my pants, seeking a more comfortable position.

Christ, I need to get this over with.

“It’s essential that you don’t move, and especially you are not to try to protect yourself with your hands. Can you manage that?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“I’d prefer not to have to tie your hands, but I can if that’s needed to keep you safe. Grab hold of the duvet and hang on to it. You can make as much noise as you like, and if you need me to stop for a moment, just say so.”

“How very kind of you, Sir.”

I allow myself a wry smile at the exaggerated use of the final honorific. I don’t know where that came from, as far as I’m aware she’s never indulged in this lifestyle but maybe time will tell. And, I’ll allow her a bit of sarcasm, in the circumstances.

I adjust my stance, test the weight of the belt in my hand, then try a couple of experimental swats against my own leg, just to get the feel of it. Satisfied I have the range and weight about right, I pause for a moment, then…

“Aaagh!” Julia lets out a scream when the leather connects with her unturned bottom, leaving a ribbon of bright pink to bloom across both cheeks. “Jesus,” she hisses, her small fists grasping at the duvet. “For Christ’s sake…”

I ignore the protests and select my next spot, just below the first, then deliver the second stroke.

“Baz!” she yelps. “That fucking hurts.”

“Exactly. Two down, just another twenty-two to go.”

“Oh God,” she moans into the bedclothes, “I hate you. I really, really hate you.”

“I daresay. Ready to continue?”

“Fuck you, Baz.”

I take that as assent and drop the next three swats in fairly rapid succession.

Julia squirms and writhes and cries out, but to her credit, she manages to remain in position and hangs on to the duvet. She’s made of stern stuff, this wife of mine.

“You’re doing well, kochanie.”

“Don’t you fucking ‘kochanie’ me,” she grinds out. “You’re a sadistic bastard.”

Am I? I hadn’t thought so up to now. More a pragmatist, a man who gets shit done and doesn’t shy away from the dirty jobs. I shrug. Dirty jobs like this one.

“Ready to continue, or do you want a time out?”

“Just get it done.” She spits the words into the duvet, her eyes tight shut.

I oblige her and deliver the next three or four strokes, establishing a steady rhythm and at the same time painting her gorgeous derrière a bright scarlet.

Julia flinches and yelps with each carefully aimed stroke but manages to hang on to the fabric now scrunched between her fingers. She’s sobbing quietly between each stroke, and no longer telling me what she thinks of my attentions.

I lower the belt and reach for a glass of water. “Time for a drink.”

“I don’t… I don’t want…” she manages, between gulps of air.

“Roll onto your side and take a sip.”

She shakes her head, but I take hold of her by the shoulder and move her over onto her right hip. “Here. Just a small sip.” I place the rim of the glass to her mouth.

She obeys me, taking a few drops of crystal-clear chilled water. Her throat works as she swallows it.

“Look at me,” I command her. “Open your eyes, kochanie, and look at me.”

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