Out of body

The light streamed into the room, lighting the bed with a yellow glow. The windows had cobwebs at the corners, the curtains coated with dust, a typical man’s house, neat enough, but they never did more than make the bed and pick up dirty clothes before you came over.

The soft moaning and sqinching sound of a cock plunging in and out of a wet pussy brought me back to reality. My boyfriend was pile driving a skinny blonde, her pussy tightly gripping his hard shaft as it rhythmically pumped in and out, the drag pulling light pink out of tanned vagina then pressing it back inside, like a signal light, the pink blink in tune to the squinching sound. Pink, brown, pink, brown. His balls lightly slapping her ass, the bass line of sex.

Reaching out I touched the shaft of his penis right where it met the winking hole of the skank’s pussy. In spite of myself I was turned on and reached my free hand to rub my clit, which surprisingly hard and engorged.

This was his idea, his treat, I didn’t like it but I endured. However, I was starting to get into it. Out it popped, his cock, on purpose I assume so on impulse I raised up and took him in my mouth, I could taste the whore’s cunt on his cock, a familiar feel, but an alien taste. I had tasted my own pussy countless times, but this was new, feeling my blood rise inspite of my will I licked every inch, cleaning him off before pushing his glistening cock back into that wretched slash.

Again I touched the shaft right at the point of entry and then moving into foreign ground, touched the bitches clit. Not a little pissed, I gave it a cruel pinch. To my surprise she moaned and said do that again. Caught up in the moment I pinched her clit between my fingers harder and then rolled my finger nails inward to add some bite to my pinch. That sent her into convulsions of orgasm and without realizing I had been pinching my own clit and in harmony, I started to convulse in orgasm just as my boyfriend pulled out and sprayed hot cum on my face and hair.

Laying back, I relaxed into the afterglow of orgasm until I was roused by a tongue on my pussy, looking down between my legs I saw a blonde head. The cunt was now eating my pussy, laying back I smiled, and let my mind float up and out of my body, lost in the moment.

© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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Stripes

She begged to be marked. Pleading, tears rolled down her cheeks, black trails.

I barely knew her, just that she was married, unfulfilled on some level. Maybe guilty about some past transgression, or missed her daddy who used to beat her.

Things like this are complex and I don’t even pretend to care why, I just need to feed my own beast.

I never restrain a woman who wants marked, to tie a woman’s hands or legs is too easy. Too easy to go too far, the beast is cruel when he’s hungry, barely contained.

Laying on her stomach head turned away, I ask again, if she really wants this. Sobbing she says yes. Please…

Floating above myself I see the beast, he raises his hand and with a searing snap brings the black belt down across her naked ass, a surprised cry of pain, real pain. I close my eyes, I don’t like to see the beast at work.

A red stripe appears on her creamy white skin. The beast waits, opening my eyes I look at her ass, the red stripe is starting to darken. She looked up at me. I said, you have to ask.

More was all she said. Closing my eyes, I again retreated to my safe place and let the beast free, twice the belt rose and fell with a loud searing slap. Two more stripes two more cries.

Harder she said, but the beast sated, refused to comply, opening my eyes I saw the three marks, she begged, more please. The beast within had grown quiet and unresponsive.

Pleading she said, please. Eyes wide open, I willed my arm up and with surprising force brought it down across her ass, harder than the beast, more heart breaking. Again she said, I delivered three more blows, finally she asked for no more.

Angry and sicken at having to do the job of the beast, at the woman for pleading, forcing me to fulfill my promise. I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of her bruised and striped ass as she lay curled on her side weeping. I texted her the picture. She would see it later as proof.

The marks fresh and red purple, dark angry marks that stirred the beast from his slumber, her vulnerable state a challenge. The powerful need rose in my loins, cock hardening, I grabbed a handful of her hair, pulled her face to my hard cock and growled, my turn…

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© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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Black Granny Panties

Blue eyes, I think, there is a definite red cast to the lights in the bar so you can’t really tell, could be green.

“I bet all the girls just lay back legs spread when you come into a room,” she said with a smile.

Taken aback by her full frontal assault, I replied, “Thank you, but I think the booze has clouded your eyesight…Ray, nice to meet you”

“Charlotte,” she smiled

Having grown tired of waiting for the roving waitress, and sliding onto an empty stool to flag down the harried bartender. “Jim Beam, a double”

Turning back to the girl next to me I stared directly into her eyes, she had a greek nose, soft brown hair pulled back curly ringlets had escaped the bonds of her clip, again tried desperately to determine her eye color. “Green?” I asked.

Staring intently back at me, she replied batting her eyes, “blue.” She leaned in opening them wide as if to welcome a closer inspection, the pupils we wide, eye lashes long. “It’s my birthday, I’m 41”

“Really? I’d probably guess early thirties, happy birthday.” Trying to win points, the night looking up, but certainly late thirties I thought. I started to feel the beast begin to stir, reaching out I lay a light touch on her waist, she responded by touching my arm.

“My friend is also celebrating, she is 41 too,” she gestured to her friend with a toss of her head, the girl was walking back from the john, headed for this seat I assume. Standing I offered the stool to the returning friend a Blonde with long braids, tall and wearing a sun dress. the dress really a tube top with a skirt. I could see a line of sunburn across the tops of her breasts, a line of white flesh exposed as the dress was slowly working its way down, close to nipple territory.

“Granny panties,” she stated the non sequitur with resignation as she sat, “had I known we were celebrating, I would’ve worn something more appropriate…”

“White?” I asked hoping.

Looking down at her lap she said “black” with a grand gesture to her crotch.

“Too bad. I am a sucker for white, I’m Ray, happy birthday” I replied, suddenly invested, the beast fully awake, hungry.

“Erin” she replied, then winking at her friend said “My, aren’t you are a handsome one, I’m buying you a shot”

Reaching out I let my hands lightly touch their backs sliding down their spines, tracing the valley ridged path to the top if their waists, confirming the granny panties on Erin and surprised by the lack of panties on Charlotte. Turning to my left I whispered to her “dirty girl, no panties, I bet you shave too.”

“You’ll find out,” she said.

After Paying for our drinks, we walked out into the night, a birthday girl on each arm, I turned to Erin and said “lets see if we can do something about those granny panties.”

The beast was happy.

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© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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Eyes of trouble

“What do you see in my eyes?”

“Well, I see the optic nerve and your retina, it looks very normal…”

“No, doctor look deeper, do you see my soul?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, you have a slight case of conjunctivitis, but these drops will help…”

“Do you see my needs and desires? Do you see yourself there? Do you feel the force of will? The beast within? Do you fear me?”

“I’m, uh, I’m not…I mean.” Shaking her head she said, all business “Please, just look to the right.” She leaned in to look into my eye again, sweet minty breath brushing my cheek, her perfume a light floral.

I was in the darkened exam room, this was a new doctor, one I’d not met before, I could only make out her soft shoulder length hair and cut soft features. She looked to be anywhere from 29 to 49.

Reaching my up hand, I lightly touched her forearm, the finger grazing the delicate hairs. I felt the flesh tighten as goose flesh rose, pulling the hairs erect under my touch.

With a slight, but noticeable gasp, she continued as nothing changed, asking me to “now look to the left.”

My hand traced up the arm and across the front of her blouse to the hardening nub of her nipple, begging to be released from her thin bra and shirt, tracing the edges with my finger tip.

Again, the slight gasp, this time her eyes closed, the eye exam briefly forgotten.

Without moving away from my hand, she said with a slight crack in her voice, “lets move to the other eye.”

Moving over to my right, carefully she stepped, purposefully not breaking contact, with my left index finger stroking that rock hard bullet, do that she straddled my right leg. She moved lower making contact with my right knee, her pubic bone making contact.

Pressing insistently, I could feel the soft pliable cushion of her pudenda as it wrapped warmly around my knee cap. The hotness plain through the soft silk fabric of her skirt.

Moving her face in close, she said softly “look right,” as I moved my right hand to her hip, running it lightly up and down her waist to judge the panties she was wearing, my deft fingers deciding she was wearing a lacy french cut bikini panty.

Traveling down her leg until I felt skin I moved my hand up her leg under her skirt until I felt the lace, then tracing the lacey edge from hip downward and inward until I felt the stubble of her shaved pubes.

My sensitive fingers could feel the warmth emanating from the special spot just a a fingers width to the left. As she slowly rested her full weight on my knee, blocking entry of my finger into her gate.

“Now look left,” she said with an edge of tease in her voice, I could see a cruel smile play across her lips with my left eye. As she moved up and down on my knee, lifting ever so slightly, but as my finger traveled to enter her cleft, down it came again, to deny access to the damp folds, this repeated several times, a cruel game with my wanton finger. She sighed, eyes closed, then i could see her briefly shudder, then press almost painfully down on my knee.

Quickly breaking contact at all three points, nipple, finger and knee, I felt a loss. The delicious warmth at my knee falling away, damp cloth remained, the finger of my left hand remembering the button of her nipple hard and insistent backed by the mass of a warm soft breast, my right finger missing the stubble at her crotch. Sadly I brought my right finger to my lips and nose, a faint scent of roses and musky sex.

Lost for an instance, I could barely make out her face in the darkened exam room, a slight smile on her lips as she turned and left the room. i heard her saying as she turned, “see the receptionist as you leave, she will give you my number…”

When it was safe to stand, I stepped from the chair and walked into the brightness of the day.

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© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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Writing in a Bar

Lost in my thoughts, writing a story on my iPhone, a voice beckons me back to solidity, “What are you writing?”

Confused, I looked around and saw the barmaid looking over my shoulder, at my phone. Frowning back my irritation at her aplomb, I turn fully towards her bringing my phone to my chest. “Don’t you have customers?”

“Not right this moment, I’m on a break. What are you writing?”

“A story about sex,” I said, hoping the truth would send her out of my slap reach. My hand was itching to deliver a sweet smack to her ripe ass, but shaking my head, I returned all the way back to reality from the BDSM story I had been working.

Putting my phone into my pocket, I looked the barmaid from brown hair to her waist. A pleasant face, full breasts peaking out of a low cut top, slowly and deliberately lingering on each nipple, that miraculously hardened under my scrutiny. Traveling downward to her crotch, I noticed a plump pudendal mound, split nicely by her too tight jeans, possibly a size smaller than her ample ass could warrant.

Feeling my gaze on her privates, she turned in profile, to hide her glory, but it only afforded me an opportunity to see her ass. My gaze took in a well rounded ass and her hipster bikini panties underneath. The pronounced panty line confirmed my suspicion that she was trying too hard not to size up in her panties as well as her jeans, recently adding about ten pounds or more.

Nodding to her nipples, now in profile, I said, “cold?” and leaned back against the bar with a smile. With a frown she turned and started to walk away. To her back I said “Hold on, now that you interrupted me, I have some questions of my own.”

Rotating in my seat I faced her as she walked around to the other side of the bar, asking if I wanted another drink, I shook her off, “what’s your name, do you read much and do you want to fuck?” I fired in rapid succession, wishing to shock and wanting to see her response.

Coloring at her neck, she leaned forward, her nipples hard again, pressing through fabric of her thin bra, and said quietly to my face, “fuck off.”

I could tell that it was an automatic well rehearsed response, to drunken come-ons, but from her body language; the lean in, her erect nipples, the widening of her eyes, the ever so slight hesitation and the quiet tone of her response, that her words were betrayed by her need.

“That’s an unusual name for a girl,” I smiled my reply.

She was still leaning in, such that I could see all the way down her shirt to the tiny satin bow on her bra. So, closing the gap allowing an even better view, I asked “When do you get off?”

“Whenever I can,” she smiled sitting up straight, the playful look on her lips transforming her face from plain to beautiful in the moment. My eyes stared into hers locking with my own. Once again she colored at my frank and open appraisal of her eyes and face, the flush rising from her neck as she looked down at her chest coyly.

This was something new for her, I could sense in the way she reacted, she glanced over to the other bartender to make sure he was not watching, and stepping closer said just as quietly, “eleven.” Then, leaning in across the bar top bringing her face close to mine, I smelled strawberries in her hair.

She said just above a whisper, “Rachel, and yes, to both.” With a wink she stood up and turned, walking down the bar to another customer, showing me her plump ass, straining against those too tight jeans.

Pulling out my phone with a smile, I settled back onto the bar stool and back into my writing, eleven, still a few hours away.

© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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What make me a sadist?

What makes me a sadist? That’s a question I ask quite often.

I guess I’ve always been somewhat of a sadist, and a touch of masochist. In the life they might call me a soft switch with a heavy trend to the S.

I would characterize myself as a “velvet sadist.” I truly don’t want to hurt anyone, not permanently. I just want to take my pleasure in a little pain, humiliation, but no marks.

As a child my neighbor was the cat lady, at any one time there were countless kittens that roamed her yard. Cute fuzzy, soft little kittens that I loved to hold. Trouble is that kittens are a fearful, curious, but still fearful creatures. I would spend hours chasing them, and when caught they had to pay. Usually by me tossing them up into the air to watch them land miraculously feet first. I never hurt them, never killed or choked them and I would have felt bad if I did. But something in their inscrutable kitten faces made me want to be cruel, holding them watching their eyes filled in fear, struggling to dart away to the safety under the house, me holding them just tight enough to keep them bound.

Later I learned that many serial killers started out torturing small animals. immediately, I assumed that meant I was soon to become a serial killer, but not having any desire to kill anyone, let alone the kittens, I was ashamed, but unbelieving.

In later years, I learned that this serial killer behavior was more than just tossing kittens into the air, that was mild, by comparison. instead, it involved killing, gutting, torturing those poor creatures while still alive. The thought of those acts sickened me. Completely banishing the thought that I might someday turn into a serial killer. That was and still is unthinkable.

But still, why am I a sadist? Is there something dark deep inside that only will and vigilance keeps the beast from loosing on those I love?

Or is it just human nature?

To live we kill animals, slaughter them and eat their flesh. I think that were it not for that cruel human nature, none of that would be possible. Instead we would be grazing the fields, prey to higher forms of life, lions, tigers, bears.

No I think humans were meant to be cruel, meant to dominate, meant to eat. Could my sadism, be a nod to that primal self?

Who knows? But I know that I still feel guilty for wanting to spank an ass red, to make that beautiful creature pay for my sins of desire. That’s where the masochism comes to play, the sweet torture of guilt over my pleasure at your pain.

Taking you to the edge, just far enough to cause pain, humiliation, tears. But not too far, I want to play again tomorrow. Release you to the safety of another day.

Pretty pussy, here kitty kitty.

© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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The List

I walked into the hotel room, letting myself in with the keycard. She was standing there to the side of the bed, eyes downcast. My list had been explicit.

White seamless panties, hipster or low rise bikini style (no thongs, string bikini, granny or lace). Thigh high stockings or over-the-knee socks, also white, no garter belts. Short skirt and button up the front shirt, (color and style is your choice). Mascara, and lip color (no gloss), absolutely no other makeup. Shoes and accessories are up to you. Take a bath before coming, use ivory soap or baby wash, no scented lotions, perfumes or hair products. No deodorant or antiperspirants. Bring your hairbrush.

Standing, waiting for inspection, a sign of approval, she quickly peeked up from her down cast posture, only to meet my eye, staring right into hers, caught she gasped and quickly turned her eyes downward.

“Good girl, keep your eyes down” I said, walking past her to the leather armchair by the window. Taking off my suit jacket, I placed it on the bed, next my tie folding it twice, placing it on top the jacket, lastly I unbuttoned my cuffs and rolled up the sleeves of my white shirt to mid forearm. It was daylight and the late afternoon sun shown in through the small high window next to the leather chair. walking into the light, I noticed a piece of white lint on my black wool pants, brushing it off, I sat with an audible sigh into the chair and stretched out my feet, inspecting my black shoes, shined this morning, not a scuff, good.

Finally settled, I looked up a the girl standing to my right, again catching her looking at me, I frowned and said “Come over here,” softly, keeping the my voice low and measured, to hide my irritation, and keep your eyes down.

Stepping carefully in her very high wedge heels, black, strapped at the ankle. Sitting forward on the edge of my seat, I motion her to step between my knees, because I’m seated, her chin is almost touching her chest to avoid my eye. Looking up at her face, I see she older than she initially looked, about 30-35, a few lines at her eyes and mouth, white skin, almost pink, a small nose, red lips, no gloss. Her bottom lip, fuller than the top, has a little scab where she had bitten, or had been otherwise marked by another, the top lip, a cupids bow. Her eyes are hidden under long lashes with a few clumps of black mascara visible, black eye liner darkened both top and bottom lid. Her eyes I know they are green and large, from earlier.

Gazing further up past a high forehead, her brown hair is pinned up, with a clip, exposing her white delicate neck. I estimate it to be about shoulder length, long enough to get a good handful. Back down her face past her ears, small and flat to her head to her jaw line. It is long and delicate, a small blemish on the right side just before her mouth, the chin delicate, no cleft.

It had been a while since I had moved or spoken, taking several minutes to examine her face, so I said “You are very pretty,” and now I notice a flush on her chest expanding up her neck coloring her cheeks, a reaction to my quiet scrutiny, and pronouncement.

“Now for the clothes and body,” I said as I sat further back I take in the whole girl standing in front. She is about 5ft. 4″, shorter than me, and normally proportioned. Starting at the bottom, with those silly high wedge heels, black leather, open toe, with straps at the ankle. I reached down, and slid them off, obediently, she helped by lifting a foot slightly towards me so I can slip them off her heal, starting to fall over she puts a hand on my shoulder. The hand is warm through my shirt. Standing in stocking feet, I see that she is really only just over 5ft. Opaque white stockings that came just above the knee, ending in a lacy band.

Sitting back, my face at eye level to the skirt, it is black and short, coming just above mid thigh, a hands width of pale white flesh between the bottom of the hemline and the top of the stockings. The shirt white, with double pleats, one at each side. Reaching out I motioned her to step forward to within reach and when she did, I pinched the material at the skirt at the hemline between my fingers, a cotton blend, heavy material. The shirt was white, button-up, un-tucked, it was simple cotton like my own. The top two buttons were undone, two middle buttons made up, the tailored cut of the shirt tight at her chest and waist, the bottom button was undone. I reached up and undid the third button, exposing the valley between her breasts almost to the navel, the girl sighed softly, her chest rising and falling, a little quicker. I pulled the shirt open wide, pleased to find small pink nipples, hard and tight from their exposure. The breast small and uplifted, an A cup, possibly a B. “I like small breasts,” I said to no one in particular.

Releasing the shirt it closed on the beautiful breasts, failing to cover her right nipple, I placed my hands on her thighs, just above the knee. I ran my hands up, fingers lightly tracing the stocking fabric, past the lacy tops, continuing up the bare expanse to the skirt hem. Using my finger tips, I lifted the front of her skirt just far enough to see she was wearing white low rise cotton bikini panties, my eyes lingering on the soft rise where the delicate cotton material disappeared between her legs.

I said, “Spread your legs” in order to widen her stance. As she moved her feet further apart, I reached up with my right hand and caressed that sweet saddle between her legs, a damp warm spot, checking for a seam, this elicited a low moan and involuntary movement, she bent her knees, pressing her pussy downward to meet my hand, begging for more force. Pulling back my hand, I looked up and frowned, “Turn around,” I said, though I was secretly pleased at the response.

Eyes down, cheeks flushed, she carefully turned trying to avoid tripping on my feet which had found a spot adjacent to hers. Grasping her hips, in part to steady her turn and also to ensure she didn’t step away from my reach, I stopped her when her ass faced me. She had stopped with her feet together, her toes wiggling nervously. I reached my hands down between her legs tapping on her inner thighs to signal my desire for her to again widen her stance. Stepping her feet wider, until her feet met my black shoes.

Switching my hands to the outside of her thighs I trailed my hands upward, trailing bare skin, lightly to the bottom of her panties then lifting the back of her her skirt, I exposed the white panties covering her ass, the seamless white cottony expanse stretched across the valley. It was a nice full bottom, the cheeks high, a dimple to either side of her spine just above, her hips were wide, not boyish. A little cellulite dimpled the flesh at her hips and some more was on the back of her thighs, just below the rise of her ass.

Using my right hand I traced the line from the right dimple across her back to the crack of her ass that started right above the top of her low rise panty. From there I traveled down the crack pushing the panty material into the valley, further and further down between her legs, until I felt a hard ridge of something not flesh. Stopping, I traced the object outline a button, the familiar handle of a butt plug.

“What is this?” My voice hard and low. “That was not part of your instructions” turning her roughly I stood up. She looked up, at me and said, “you didn’t say I couldn’t…” she started to explain, a little half smile on her lips. Quick as a snake, I slapped her silent, the smile, gone, shocked tears sprang from her eyes. My hand print starting to blossom on her pale white cheek.

Starting to raise her hand to the cheek, “Stop!” I ordered. Frozen, she waited as black trails started down her face. “Turn around,” I said in a low voice, struggling to maintain control. She slowly turned the hand returning dutifully to her side. With a hand in the middle of her back I pushed her forward to her knees, and lifting the skirt, roughly pulling down the panties, and I grasped the button in my right hand, and roughly pulled out the plug, at the same time I shoved two fingers on my other hand into her anus feeling her rectum slowly tighten on my fingers. With my thumb, I stroked the slit of her pussy, feeling the muscles of her rectum tighten with pleasure around my fingers, I pulled them free. Turning her around, I put the two fingers into her surprised mouth, rubbing them on her tongue feeling her automatic response of sucking and licking them. Then, pulling them out, I pushed the butt plug past her lips and into her mouth and said “Hold this, it is now your gag.”

Standing, I pulled her to her feet, and walking backward to my chair, I sat down on the edge, and pulled her down across my lap, ass up. Her chest and head hanging down almost to the floor, to my left, her hips across my right leg, feet on the floor to my right. A few hairs had escaped their bonds and trailed across her red tear-damp cheek. Her eyes closed face turned towards me, the butt plug ring, like a big binky, protruded from her pursed lips.

Lifting her skirt, I pulled her panties back up, covering her beautiful full ass. Then smoothing the skirt back in place, I reached under her neck and chest with my left hand and grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face and head around to face me and then lifted her head up, so that it was nearly up to my chest level, her body twisting so that it partly faced me, her neck and torso twisting at an uncomfortable angle, I grasped the ring of the plug pulling it gently from her mouth and asked “safe word?”

She shook her head indicating she would not be using one, putting the plug back between her teeth, I slapped her face again, hard, at the same spot. Surprised, the cry muffled by the plug. Again, gently pulling the plug out, I asked again, using a more forceful tone, “safe word?” “Daisy,” she whispered, eyes closed, subdued. Rubbing the wet plug on her red cheek, I said, “good girl” and then put the plug back in her mouth.

Still holding onto her hair forcing her face around so she could see my face and my arm I reached down and gently raised her skirt again to expose her backside. Tracing the crack of her ass with my right finger, following the valley between here plump cheeks, to the wet spot between her legs. I explored the shape of her puffy vulva, feeling the dampness of her wet pussy, as my fingers traveled over seamless panty, the textures all hers. Lowering her head, but still gripping her hair so her face was to me, I adjusted her position so that here bottom was correctly positioned at the bottom of my planned trajectory, my cock rock hard, pressing through the fabric of my pants, into her side.

Quickly raising my hand I brought it down with force on her panty clad bottom, once, twice, three times in quick succession. She arched to meet the hand moaning around the plug. Again I traced the valley of her full bottom from top to vulva, searching the fabric at the top of her cleft for a hint of her clit. finding a small hard button, I lightly rubbed it through the material, bringing low moans and movement. Then again this time much harder I quickly rained 5 slaps in a row, this time getting a little sharp cry of pain. But still, her tender ass rose to meet my hand at the bottom of my swing, welcoming the impact.

Again, I ran my finger down her ass, when I got to the damp union of her thighs, I slipped my hand under her panty to touch the rosebud of her asshole, then turning my finger, running the fingernail down the sides of her wet and open vulva, stopping to deliver a gentle pinch to a labia on my way to her clit, swollen with desire my finger wet from the journey, I gently teased the button of her clit, getting a moan of delight from her, “not yet,” I said firmly, pulling back my hand.

With my free hand, the other still grasping her hair, I lifted the waist band of her panties and pulled down. She lifted her hips to assist in there lowering. Pulling them down to her stockings exposing her ass, red from the spanking. Tightening my grip on her hair I pulled her head further around so she could see the pink cheeks. She smiled and said, “Please.”

Without warning, I quickly raised my right arm, and started spanking her ass getting harder and harder, alternating cheeks. Raising her ass to meet my hand she moaned, then as the blows continued, she squealed, then crying out in pain, even then still raising her ass to meet the blows, when tears of pain started to run down her cheeks, and her ass completely red now going towards blue, the hips were no longer raising, but still no safe word, I was impressed, grateful. Not wanting to cause real damage I move my target down to her thighs just above the lacy top of her stockings, then back up to the crease of her ass my hand grazing her dripping pussy.

Finally, feeling the beast return to slumber, my human side took over and I started to lighten up my swing, eventually stopping to caress the hot cherry red flesh of her ass, tears flowing freely from her face. Gripping her hair, I pulled her face up to mine, bending her backwards almost double, and licked a tear from her black mascara streaked face and softly kissed her cheek.

Turning her over, so she sat between my legs, tender ass hanging down, I plucked the butt plug from her teeth and tossed it aside. With a gentle kiss on her mouth, cradling her in my arms, rocking forward, I stood up, and carried her to the bed laying her down, on her side.

I went to the bathroom and wetting the hand towels and wash cloths with cold water I returned to the bed, grabbing a dry towel as well. She was still there crying softly, curled into a fetal ball, here clothes were gone, removed while I was gone, only her stockings remained. I walked to the bed, and sat next to her and gently washed the mascara and tears from her face. Turning her face down, I layered the cool wet towels and clothes on her red bottom and thighs.

Spreading her legs I placed two fingers in her pussy feeling for that familiar spot, just above the pubic bone. With my other hand I dipped a finger, wet from my mouth, I found her swollen clit and whispered, “now pet, now”. Gently at first, the roughly, I coaxed several hip shaking orgasms, each time, thighs pressed tightly trapping my hands in place, pussy convulsing around my fingers, only to relax as if asking for another, when finally spent, there were fresh tears on her face and little smile. Her thighs still clenched and locking my hands in their grasp, I slowly pulled them out.

Covering her up with the bed sheet, she closed her eyes, so I said “sleep now, I’ll wait.”

© The Sleeping Beast, 2013

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