Page 72 of S is for…

Diann relaxed, letting her head fall and listening to his footsteps.

His hand ran down her back, over the material of the sports bra, then bare flesh, before finding the top of her little shorts.

Master Morton yanked them down, baring her ass.He kept tugging, and when the fabric puddled around her ankles, she stepped out of them, kicking them to the side.

He stroked her from bra-line down to her ankles, one continuous, smooth caress.

“Ankles together to protect your pussy.”

Diann brought her legs together.With her legs spread, there was always the possibility that a scene was going include some level of pleasure because spread legs meant her partner had easy access to her pussy.

Closed legs meant this was going to be an impact play only scene.

He stroked her a few more times, and Diann had a feeling this was as much about Julen needing time to prepare as it was about her preparation.

He inhaled audibly, his fingers briefly gripping her ankle and giving it a squeeze, before he rose.

He touched her ass with the strap, rubbing gently.

Then the strap lifted away, and a loud crack echoed from the walls.Diann squeezed the stress balls as fire burned across her ass.Spankings and even some paddlings—depending on the material—stung.Then the heat soaked in, leaving the pleasant warmth that sometimes felt therapeutic.

Straps were unapologetically, and unquestionably, implements of pain.

It felt like a line of fire burned across her ass.

The second one also landed on her bottom, lower, where she was more sensitive.Diann cried out, rocking her hips side to side.

The third and fourth blows came in quick succession.Crack, crack.Diann whimpered, one foot kicking up as she danced in place.

It hurt, oh it hurt, and she needed it.The pain burned bright and hot, making it impossible to think about anything else.

He moved lower, to her thighs.Objectively, she knew these blows weren’t as hard.The cracking sounds not as loud, the burn not as bright.

But this pain built on top of what had come before it, and when he landed a single strike to her calves, she cried out.

Master Morton paused, and she stared at his shoes, breathing hard.He silently touched the rubber balls in her hands.Her scream must have worried him.She squeezed each ball twice, showing that she hadn’t forgotten they were there.

He tapped the strap against his legs, and then disappeared from her limited range of vision.

“Take a step back, as far as is comfortable,” he ordered.

She did, her shoulders digging into the wood as she braced herself, her body making the third side of a triangle.

Crack.

Diann screamed again as he struck the front of her thighs.She wanted to beg him for more, beg him to beat her so hard she’d have marks for weeks, not days.

His feet shuffled, and then another strike landed on the front of her legs.This time the hard impact was on the other thigh, meaning he’d switched sides.

A hard one cracked against her ass, lighting up already abused flesh, but concentrating the pain on the opposite butt cheek.This proved it was intentional, that he knew exactly what he was doing by switching it up to ensure the sensation from the beating wasn’t off balance.

There was nothing she hated more than imbalanced pleasure-pain.

And despite the searing sensation, there was pleasure.Diann had never really figured out if it was the actual physical pain that her body transmuted into pleasure, or if the pleasure that had her so wet that her inner thighs were slick, was rooted in submission.

Maybe she just found being utterly helpless and controlled inherently pleasurable, thanks to some weird neural pathway Peter would probably get around to studying one day.

Crack.Crack.Crack.

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