It's September ninth, and that means it's time for your daily fuck on Taboo Tuesday. The air in Daniel's apartment is different from mind. It's calm, ordered and smells faintly of sandwood and leather. We're on our third date and the chemistry between us is a low, steady hum of electricity. He's older, with a quiet confidence that I find incredibly sexy. We met on an app that caters to more specific tastes, and I had admitted my curiosity about a word I'd
only ever read about. Ronis plush sofa, A glass of whiskey in my hand, the conversation flowing easily. He turns to me, his dark eyes serious but kind you mentioned in your profile. His voice is sexy, and that confident yet curious way that you are curious about impact play. Before I can even answer, he adds, do you trust me? The way Daniel just assumes I'm interested, while both confidently expressing and asking about trust is a total turn on. Why yes and yes, I want to say, But still
the question hangs in the air. Part of me is terrified, a nervous flutter in my stomach. The other, larger part is humming with a dark, thrilling curiosity I hadn't known I possessed. I decide to trust him, and more importantly, to trust that hidden part of myself. Yes, I think I would. He waits expectantly, and that's when I realized he had asked the second question, and yes, I trust you. He nods a slow, gentle smile, touching his lips. He takes my glass and sets it aside. Okay, first, the
most important part your safe for it is red. You can say it at any time, for any reason, and we will stop immediately, no questions. Ask do you understand? An tense look alone is making me wet. The safe word is the basis of trust. Red. I nod the word, feeling foreign and powerful on my tongue. He takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom with no word spoken. There's no elaborate dungeon, just large, comfortable bed and soft ambient lighting. We'll start slow over my lap, just to
see how you feel. My heart is pounding. He sits on the edge of the bed and pats his big I hisitate for a second, then hike up my dress and my stomach down across his lap. My ass now the highest part of my body. The position feels incredibly vulnerable and surprisingly incredibly hot. He doesn't strike me first. He just rests his large, warm hand on my ass, a grounding, reassuring pressure. It feels so warm and so good.
Then he begins to rub me in slow, firm circles, his palm, warming my skin through the thin silk of my panties. Just breathe tell me what you feel. I feel like I want more good. Then the first smack lance. It's open palmed, the sound sharp and loud in the quiet room, A bright electric sting blossoms across my left cheek, shocking and immediate. I casp before the sting can fade. It's replaced by a deep, pleasant warmth that spreads through
my entire body. He caresses my ass where he just struck, and the almost romantic caress after the sting is a revelation. He strikes me again, this time on the right smack. This sing pattern a flash of heat, a momentary sting, and then a slow blooming warmth followed by a gentle caress. He establishes a rhythm, a steady beat of his palm against my ass. He skips a caress, and the surprise of a smack followed by an other smack brings its own shocking pleasure. He snaps my ass again and again.
My mind, which is usually a chaotic rollmind of thoughts, goes completely quiet. There is only the sound, the rhythm, the sting, than the heat. How are you doing? His voice is a low hum that vibrates through his legs into my body. It's good. More please rather than smack me. His hand comes away, and I feel a moment of disappointment before I feel something new slide across my skin. It's cool, smooth, and heavy. He's tracing the shape of my ass with a leather paddle. Anticipation is a thousand
times more intense than the actual impact. The first thud is a deep, resonant sound, completely different from the sharp smack of his hand. A feeling is less a sting and more a deep, satisfying ache. Thud thud, a steady, hypnotic rhythm. My hips begin to move on their own, a slight, involuntary rocking into each strike, no longer thinking, only feeling. A floaty, disconnected sensation washes over me. Just as I'm getting used to the deep sting in the paddle.
I feel his palm again. It makes me gasp. How can a variety of small stings of pain feel so good? He alternates now, the paddle's heavy thud and the sharp sting of his palm, creating a symphony of sensation on my skin. I can feel my orgasm building, a strange, deep and unfamiliar pulse that has nothing to do with my click and everything to do with the rhythmic control assault on my senses. It's coiling in my core, a product of the trust, the sting, the heat, and his low,
constant murmurs of praise. The final strike is the hardest yet, and it shatters my control. The orgasm rips through my body, a full body convulsion that is completely overwhelming. A strangled cry is torn from my throat as my world dissolves into pure, hot, white sensation. The impact stops immediately. The world slowly comes back into focus. Gentle hands are on me, turning me over and gathering me into a hug. He pulls me into his lap, cradling me against his chest.
His touch is now impossibly soft. You did so well. His lips are against my hair as he robs me gently, just breathe. He had spent the last twenty minutes hurting me in the most delicious way possible, and as he gently rubbed the sting from my skin, I realized I had never felt safer or more completely adored.