Erika’s one of the people who doesn’t mix sex with her spankings, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t aroused by them. No it does not:
It used to be that I’d wait for my tops to leave (sometimes just barely). I joked with one of them that if he walked outside of my apartment and then listened carefully, he could probably hear me screaming. (Yes, I’m loud.) I never masturbated in front of any man — sounds strange to some of you, I’m sure! But I was intensely private that way. A dichotomy, to be sure. Wanna spank me? Gather the audience, the bigger the better. But sex is between me and my partner, and no one else. Or between me and me, if it’s self-pleasuring.
Steve didn’t want me to do it after he left. He wanted to watch me.
At first, I felt squirmy and vulnerable. I didn’t think I could do it; I thought I’d be too distracted. But he simply sat off to the side, not speaking, not touching, letting me concentrate. I shut my eyes tight and disappeared into the sensations, and then there it was.
He watched. And afterward, when I was shaking and recapturing my breath, he commanded me to lie still, don’t move, rest. He then wrapped me in the comforter and held me, just as he had after the spanking. Told me how beautiful I was.
There is even a lovely photo to accompany the post.