Today I ask him to take his belt off when he comes into the bedroom, and I lie with my face buried in the pillow, wriggling at the anticipation of the first smack, and pushing my bottom up to present the juiciest target.
It’s times like this that I wish I had a bigger arse. It’s not small, my arse, it’s… average? I don’t know. I haven’t measured all the arses. But I’d love for it to be just a little bit fleshier – rounder and thicker, to give a truly satisfying jiggle and smack as the belt slaps down on it.
I’m pretty sure he likes my arse, though. After just a few strokes his dick’s rock solid and he orders me to hold it. To squeeze. Squeeze it harder for ‘more’ and let it go if it gets too much.
I squeeze tight.
I’ve never held it so tight.
And it feel like it’s never throbbed as strongly as it does when I moan with happiness. Arch my back more, push my bottom up further to meet the belt.