Spanked By Her Best Friend – P1

“Noooooooo mooooooooooooooooorrrrrrrrrreeee pllllleeeeaaaassseeee!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, absolutely certain that I was going to have no voice at all tomorrow.

He stopped and looked at me with those dark gray eyes, the rest of him all thoughtful and boyish, almost benign in faded jeans and a plain black t-shirt . . . except for the wicked rubber strap in his hand. “How many strokes did I say I was going to give you when we started this, sweetie?” came the inevitable, deep velvet question.

I was panting, no longer able to draw a full breath – shuddering and crying and shaking and wishing – beyond anything else at that particular moment in my life – that he would relent from what he had said . . . just this once.

But I should have known better. John did not hand out punishments lightly, and thus his punishments were pretty heavy. When I agreed to belong to him – in a surprisingly casual exchange that he somehow turned into an impromptu cermony involving a certain amount of a good white wine and him claiming every inch of my body, mind, and soul as his to care for and protect (even from myself) – I knew that it would be forever, with or without the mumbled words of a cleric or civil servant.

And I knew that it would often be very hard to accept exactly what belonging to him meant, elementally, to each of us.

To me, it meant that I gifted him with my obedience. I don’t follow anyone blindly – even him – and I don’t give myself easily, and John knows that. But when it comes down to it, my take on things is not always the most pragmatic or practical, and I have never known him to set a rule that I considered to be frivilous or spiteful.

To John, it meant that he could indulge himself sexually with me in any way he preferred – but always with an eye to me and my well-being, of course – even when he was waling the tar out of me. He assumed the mantle of responsibility for me and to me as if he had been born to it, peeping into all areas of my life, but choosing his targets with a wisdom I had come to have a great respect for, even prior to our arrangement.

John had been my hovering best friend since before high school – always mature beyond his years while I seemed stuck at adolescence, and sometimes much, much younger. He’d always been there for me – often rolling his eyes at my antics or quietly restraining multiple rounds of “I told you so’s” – through innumerable illnesses and boyfriends and two deadbeat husbands.