Page 82 of Dizzy

He stands tall, tugging my yoga pants down to trap my ankles. I’m wearing a new pair, black with a teal stripe down the side, and a matching crop top with three-quarter sleeves. It was fine for the house, but outside in November, my bare midriff is puckered with goose bumps. The rest of me is, too. My spine and scalp are tingling, the hairs prickling on the back of my neck.

This is gonna hurt. I can’t wait.

He rubs my ass, one cheek and then the other. Then he slaps them experimentally. It hardly stings. It’s a warm up. I moan.

He slips his rough fingers into my slit. I’m sopping wet. He gathers my cream and strokes down my bare thighs, sending shivers dancing across my skin.

“Are you allowed to tell me what to do, naughty girl?” He trails his belt, whisper soft, up my thighs along the trail he just traced.

“No,” I answer, breathless. I can’t help but arch my back, bare my throbbing pussy to him. I’m so turned on. The anticipation stretches, plays on my body like a physical touch.

He spanks me a few times, and I let myself cry out. “It hurts!”

“It’s gonna hurt worse,” he growls, his hand roaming, slipping through my juices, teasing my clit, and then petting my ass before he swats me a few more times. “You’ve been bad, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” I moan.

“You’re sorry, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I pant.

“You’re gonna count. If I don’t hear you, you’re gonna get it again. If you move your hands, you’re gonna get more. Understand?”

“Yes.” I want him to do it. I need him to do it. I know it’s gonna hurt, but I’ll explode if he doesn’t.

Crack. The leather swishes through the air. I yelp. It burns. A sharper pain than his hand, but not too bad. I can take it. He’s definitely holding way back.

The air whistles again. Crack. I shriek. That one had a little more bite.

“I said count baby. How many times are you gonna get number one?”

“One!” I holler.

He chuckles, dark and low. His fingers stroke a line down my ass. He’s admiring his handiwork.

And then there’s a whoosh as he swings his arm, and a line of fire crosses both cheeks. I clench. “Two!” I gasp.

“Three more. Unclench your ass.”

“I can’t.” I’m still trying to catch my breath from the last one.

“Don’t tell me no. That’s two more.” He lays the belt on me again and again.

“Three. Four. Five.” I’m squirming now, dipping my hips to avoid the blows, but it’s useless. Pain blossoms, searing, rushing my brain and drowning out everything but this moment. I squeeze the stairs with all my strength. “Six. Seven.”

And I collapse, sobbing, the wood rough on my cheek. I can’t keep my hips raised anymore. I’m done in and floating away. But then strong hands lift me, hold me up, and Dizzy slams his hard, bare cock into me as his fingers find my clit. I kick off my pants so I can spread wide for him. Oh, Lord, he’s so hot, he’s thrusting so hard, he’s so much to take.

I’m a ragdoll. My ass is on fire, but my hungry pussy feels so good. He’s groaning louder, and he’s hotter, closer than ever before, and—oh, fuck.

The condom.

I mumble, meaning to remind him, but I can’t find my words. He props me upright and drills me, forcing deep inside me, stretching me, making me take all of him.

“That’s right, naughty girl. Take this cock.” He pounds me, and I can’t worry. I don’t remember how. All I can do is go along for the ride. He’ll make sure it’s okay.

I’m coming before I realize it, shaking, crying out, and then another wave crashes over me, and I’m coming again, harder, and it keeps going and going as Dizzy drives into me, faster and faster, and then he pulls out and cums in hot spurts up my back.

I dangle in his arms, boneless.

---