Past All Thought of If or When, No Use Resisting

It is 4 am and I feel the warm cascades of sleep threatening to envelop me, but so too do I feel aroused, in need. We’ve talked all night and it’s miraculous that I’ve kept my hands to myself until now. I am feeling pliant–no, more than pliant, I am feeling subservient, submissive. How strange the subtle difference between being willing to be used and wanting to be of use. Not just to be of use. I want… pleasure. Of a kind that only he can bring. Like reading my thoughts, maybe reading the tension, reading me, suddenly warm and fidgety and doe-eyed, he speaks up first.

“What do you want, baby? Anything your sweet little heart desires.”

A soft giggle bubbles up out of my lips.

“I really want a spanking.”

“You want a spanking?”

“I do.”

“Should I use the cane or the belt, or your paddle brush, or…?”

“Your hand?” My voice is softer than I expected. My innocent little girl tone is on strong.

“Very good choice.”

I slide my panties down to meet the high socks I wear and crawl up onto my hands and knees with my butt in the air.

“You know just how to get me excited, don’t you?”


He starts me easy. Ten smacks on my left cheek that make me whimper with pleasure.

“Say thank you.”

“Th-thank you,”I murmur.

“After each, I want a loud and clear ‘thank you… may I have another.’ Clear?”

I nod my head and one hard smack hits my right cheek.

“Thank you, may I have another?”

Smack. And again. Smack. And Again. Smack.

I thank him for the fourth and ask for another.

“Mmmm… what if I said no?”

“But I want another one!” my voice is strangled and squeaky.

“Beg me… really nicely,” he purrs.

“Daddy… can I pleeeeease have another spank on my bottom?” I marvel at how tiny and desperate I sound.

He smacks me harder and I yelp, but do not forget to say thank you.

“That’s a good girl. You really like having your ass spanked don’t you?”

I blush in the dark but whisper: “Yea, daddy.”

“Because you’re a naughty little girl aren’t you?”

“Mmmm sometimes.”

“Such a naughty, adorable little slut you are,” he coos at me.

“Daddy, will please keep spanking my bottom? Please?”

He spanks me in sets of five, his hand growing heavier with each set. And with each set I tell him, unbidden now, thank you. On the last, my thank you is particularly melodious, sincere, tiny. I am deep in my happy place and feeling so needy.

“Oh, you’re welcome, baby pooh…” his voice is as thick and as warm as maple syrup on a winter morning. “Purse your lips…” He makes a puckering sound at me and I follow suit, giggling as I do.

“C’mere, baby, come get your kisses now…”

I feel like I can’t breathe, and I scale his body, desperate little fingers crawling up to his shoulders until we are face to face and he kisses me gently in the dark, tiny, sweet kisses against my lips and my cheeks. I make happy little noises in turn.

“Baby like getting little kisses, hmmm?”

“Yes’mz,” I coo, heart pounding in my chest.

“Come give daddy another kiss.”

I lean in and give him a kiss on the lips, followed by another giggle.

His hand beats against my ass again.

“Ow,” I yipe. “Thank you.”

“Does your poor little bum sting, dear?”


“Let me kiss it and make it better.”

He leans down and kisses the warm flesh of my bottom and I wiggle beneath him, blushing again.

“You like that, hmmm?”

I make a tiny noise of pleasure and he kisses the other cheek before spanking me once more. With each set I whisper thank you and lean in closer to him.

“You’re daddy’s good little girl, aren’t you?”


“You’re my favorite little girl, you know that right?”


“Daddy adores you and treasures you soooo much.”

My head swims with lust, with emotion, with an overwhelming need to be good for him. To be his sweet little girl. His voice lights a fire in me that I can’t explain.

“Wiggle that cute butt for me,” he says.

I do and he continues his spanking, alternating cheeks, and pace and force. I am moaning and whimpering softly, saying my thanks with each set, like a prayer, like a prayer that he doesn’t stop.

The last set he hits me so hard I growl like a little tiger and he chuckles at me. He leans down and gives my hot skin a bite, eliciting a moan from me. His fingers slide over the arch in my lower back and rests his cheek against my ass, nuzzling in against it, whispering about how soft and warm and smooth my skin is.

He takes a deep breath and groans.

“Oh, daddy,” I mewl, my skin instantly covered in goosebumps.

He clucks his tongue at me and I raise my hips higher.

“Naughty little girl. Is your pussy wet for me, baby?”

“Yea, Daddy…” I pant.

His fingers wrap around the back of my thighs and he uses his thumbs to spread my lips open, baring my cunt to him. His tongue slides through my folds and he tastes me. His voice is unsteady as he moans. He laps at me before sitting up and rubbing his palms over my naked ass.

He reaches out to me, bidding me to come to him again and I turn around and crawl back into his arms. He kisses me again, gently, on the mouth, letting me taste my own arousal. He covers me with his kisses and I am the happy recipient of his attention and affection. I tremble in his arms, the thing that is growing inside of me so big now, taking over independent thought. My brain is hazy, clouded with cotton and dirty promises and sweet nothings. I am nothing if not ready, willing, aching.

“Now, baby, tell me, what do you want?”

“My pussy is so achy now, daddy,” I whimper.

“Oh, poor thing…” he chucks me under the chin. “What should we do about it?”

After a pregnant pause I speak into his neck: “Will you fuck my needy little pussy, daddy? Please? I’m dripping wet… I want to feel your cock split me open.”

With each profession of my need I am panting and moaning. Every word only confirms, more and more, just what I am: wholly and entirely his.

“You know I love it when you really give in…” he growls.

He takes me by my wrists and puts me on my back, his body following me down, cock slowly sliding inside of me. I can’t stop whimpering. The pleasure, the intimacy, it is all too much for me, a sensory overload. I want to look away, to close my eyes, but I can’t stop gazing into his.

“It feels so good when you’re inside me… you make me so wet… you feel so good…”

He fucks me slowly, all the way in, all the way out, in rhythm with my heartbeat. Heavy, powerful.

“You’re so tight,” he moans. “Such a tight little hole.”

“All yours,”I cry. “Just yours… just for you…”

His thumbs stroke the insides of my wrists and I feel like I am dying with every touch, with every thrust. My powerful legs pull him in closer to me. I want no space between us.

“Come here, baby… kiss me while I fuck you.”

“Oh, daddy…” I lean up and reach for him, kiss him, slow and warm and wet and passionate, pouring myself into his mouth, everything I’m feeling, everything I need, everything he gives me.

When we break for air I am struggling to breathe. I tell him to fuck me faster, harder. That’s what I need from him. For him to split me open on his cock, to press so deep inside of me. To make me cry and scream and moan. I tell him. Just how good he makes me feel.

“Your pussy is meant for this… for my cock… it’s built just for me to fuck…”

“It’s just for you to fuck… just for you cum inside… to claim and to mark,” I grind out, my voice higher in pitch, the words bringing me right to the edge as I say them. They are absolutely true.

“Oh, baby, keep telling me,” he groans.

He picks up the pace, holding me to him, fucking me desperately. I tell him I want to come on his cock, that I want to feel my muscles squeeze and spasm around him. But first, first, I want him to cum, to fill me up, to mark my womb, to claim me as his.

His grip on my wrists tightens and my hips buck up and forward, my heels dig into him, holding him deep, deep, deep inside of me while he continues to writhe against me. He tells me he’s going to cum and I scream for it, his words, the depravity, the loss of control in his voice enough to push me well over the edge, lights dancing behind my eyes, body shaking. I swear I am not breathing, I am floating in the warm cocoon of his arms, my body filled to the brim with him. Pleasure pounds through me, from my temples all the way down to my toes. I am burning from the inside out, combusting. I am dying and I would have it no other way.

Have I fainted?

I feel so gone. So out of it. The feel of him there, with me, takes awhile to register again.

His thumbs stroke against the inside of my wrists again. His breath is warm and steady. He is here with me. There are tears rolling down my cheeks. Silent and satisfied on so many levels.

“That was good,” he mutters darkly, his voice little more than a growl.

“Mmhmm,” I cannot speak yet.

“Feeling alright, baby?” he asks, one hand reaching to wipe away the stray tears.

Yes. An unbelievable amount of yes.

And then it’s time for a hot bath, to let the steam relax me, to let the water wash away the mess we’ve made of me. And then the cool feel of creamy lotion against my stinging bum, red and angry with the imprints of his hand.

I am safe and happy and renewed.

3 responses to “Past All Thought of If or When, No Use Resisting

    • I usually only use arnica when there are bad bruises–breasts and thighs always. Almost always after the cane too.

      For something like this where there was just a loooot of sting, I have a lotion with aloe and Shea butter. Cools and soothes the skin. 🙂


      • I usually don’t use arnica, but this last spanking had my in serious tears so I broke down and got some. I’m not hurting nearly as bad as normal, but I had intense bruises the day after the arnica.

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