The belt whistles as it comes down high and hard, and a thick band of pain lances across my buttocks, then quickly blooms and spreads across my skin. My ass is on fire: flames where the belt struck, and the spreading heat threatens to engulf me. Before I can react, the belt licks my flesh again, softer this time, preparing me for the next stroke.
And as the second falls, I shove my ass out to meet it, and the leather responds with a sharp SMACK! that causes me to hiss and tremble. It’s laid across both cheeks, and I want to leap to my feet and clutch my bottom. As if she knows my thoughts, the belt brushes against my pussy, reminding me to hold my position across the whipping chair.
She waits to deliver the third strike, long enough for me to suck in several breaths. My legs are rubbery, but I keep my feet planted firmly, shoulder-width apart. A shiver of panic courses up my backside, and just when I think I can’t wait any longer, the belt whistles again and impacts my left cheek.
I catch my breath, and it’s all I can do not to scream! I clench the seat of the chair so tightly, I wonder that my fingers don’t break through the woven rattan. I’m rigid where I stand quaking in fear of the next strike. Then a cool breeze and her gentle fingertips stroke the welts the belt has left. She is close to my bottom, exploring the weals; I feel her tongue flicker across my skin, and I shiver.
“Take a breath and relax, my pet.”
I nod and take a deep breath, willing the tension from my body, imagining my muscles as supple as babbling brook. The image of gentle flow of a stream works. Gradually, I feel my muscles loosen, and I close my eyes, as though I can hear the water tumbling over a rocky bed.
She stands and raises the belt above her head. “Good girl,” she says. “Only two more to go.”