He’d been teasing me, playfully threatening me, the whole day. He wanted, he told me, to punish me – he wanted tabasco on my ass, inside my ass.
Cue sheer terror. Every time he mentioned it, I felt like my heart would beat out of my chest. It seemed unthinkable. I couldn’t do that, and did my best to communicate that. I think I got through, but he threatened – oh, how he threatened. He would make me ask for it – make me choose. My pussy, or my ass? And if I refused to choose – he’d put it on both.
Fear. Excitement. Horror. Apprehension. Arousal.
He couldn’t do that to me. He wouldn’t.
Would he?
Maybe, but not, I was mostly confident, tonight.
When we played last night, I knew I was in for it – I’d told him the previous nights I hadn’t reached my limit for spanking. And well – I knew as soon as the first spanking fell I was going to find my limit tonight.
Interspersed with caresses, slaps fell – some hard, some soft, different spots on my butt. Some ached so deeply I couldn’t help but cry out – so slapped and stung and faded to warmth after only a moment. Sometimes he touched my legs, my thighs, my clit, my feet. Sometimes he parted my ass cheeks and flicked my anus, eliciting yelps.
(As an aside, I still don’t know why flicking or whipping my anus turns me on so much. Another fantasy element accidentally come to life one day a long time ago when he playfully flicked it and instead of yelping I flinched and pressed my ass back at him, begging with everything but words for more. Anal is so difficult for me, and internally I am still so torn over it – I feel like I shouldn’t like it, shouldn’t want it. It’s not just taboo, but it’s the same reason I like being spanked, like being whipped – it HURTS! And even the most gentle anal still has pain associated with it. There is pleasure, but there’s always pain too, and that mix…especially in fantasy…
I don’t know what it is. I’m multiorgasmic, but I have an imagination that runs away with me and any intense sensation becomes fodder for that imagination. Anal was something I both abhorred and fantasized about for a long time, which is an interesting combination. My husband is incredibly focused on my ass, so he eventually shoved me past my prejudice and anal has become a regular part of our sex life.)
As the spanking went on, there was less touching and more spanking, harder slaps. He was clearly determined that I wouldn’t find these pleasurable slaps like the day before – he meant for them to sting, and it worked. Sometimes the slaps came so fast I found myself crying out and wriggling away, but he chased me – eventually pausing for me to catch my breath.
Sometimes, I tensed – anticipating a blow. Often he struck anyway, and being tensed didn’t really help – sometimes, he waited for me to relax and then slapped. And sometimes he ordered me too, and failing to comply immediately lead to several very fast slaps that left me crying and writhing and wriggling to get away.
And while I can’t come from being smacked, I was wet.
Oh my god, was I wet.
And then, on all fours, he started fucking me – but I couldn’t come. If I came, he told me, he was hotsaucing my clit. I had to tell him to stop when I was close to coming – but every time I stopped him before HE came, I got ten hard slaps on my ass.
At that point, my ass felt like it was glowing, swollen and hot. Ten slaps left me crying out, and he said he could already see the bruises.
How long did I make it? How many times did I get to be on the edge of orgasm and stop him?
I’m not sure. To be honest, I hate games like that – I’m extremely sensual and multiorgasmic and just…sex without being able to come is frustrating, and not in the way that’s enjoyable. I play those games for him, because I know how much they turn him on and how much he has fun with them – but they’re not really fun for me.
Each time he entered me, and I felt myself getting closer – and oh, he was pushing me close, sometimes going for a bit even after I told him to stop – he threatened me. If I came…it was the sauce. Was it worth?
And if I held off on coming, my reward was going to be giving him a blow job.
Unfair! I wanted to come.
Oh my god, I wanted to come. I was aching. And despite him going in and out of me, which usually leaves me in need of lube no matter how hot and turned on I am, I was dripping. I could feel the proof of how turned on I was dribbling down my clit.
That was something I thought only happened IN BOOKS. When I thought about it after he went to sleep later I laughed, because I thought that was literary license – not something that happened. But I was that wet.
And finally – I knew. I couldn’t take any more slaps. My ass ached.
We had found my spanking limit. (And I’m pretty sure his hand hurt – he had to take his wedding ring off, haha, because his hand was kind of swollen.)
It wasn’t a choice of whether or not to come any more – it was sauce or slaps.
And I couldn’t take the slaps.
I begged to come – and he sounded surprised. “You want me to burn you?” he asked, and I couldn’t answer because I didn’t. If it was just holding back from orgasm – as much as that wasn’t fun, I could do it. But I was in one of those wonderful dilemmas that I always fantasized about – pick your pain. Burn or slap.
I begged to come. Over and over, desperate. He fucked me hard and I came – it felt like my whole body throbbed. My ass hurt every time he slammed himself inside of me, the skin so sensitive and sore that his hands on my ass actually stung. It hurt to move my legs, and I knew there were bruises forming deep beneath the skin.
But as I came, none of it mattered and if anything it added to the power of the orgasm. It was like I could feel everything – his stomach against my butt, his hands on my hips and ass, my nipples brushing against the arm of the couch – and nothing, because all I felt was the overwhelming all-encompassing climax.
I wanted it to go on forever.
But when it ended, he told me I had to be punished. Still shuddering from my climax, I could barely argue, but I remember begging him not to.
Actually, I don’t totally know what I said, if it was anywhere close to coherent or if it was just “please don’t, please, please” … small echoes of the pleasure I had just experienced had the muscles in my arms and legs still quivering.
But no, he assured me, I had to be punished. I begged, but I was going to be punished anyway. He told me to flip over or he was putting it up my ass, and I wasn’t ready for that, so still pleading, legs closed, I flipped onto my back.
He ordered me to part my legs, and I fought to keep them closed, begging, nearly crying, but my legs fell limp when he actually got…not angry, but…I can’t describe it. The order to part my legs wasn’t playful and it was..close to angry? I still tried to close my legs but it was half-hearted, and though I never stopped begging, something cool and wet dripped onto me.
I think I was crying. I don’t know.
“Does it hurt yet?”
“No..it takes a minute..”
It felt like forever, the anticipation of a pain that doesn’t end when a hand is lifted, and being on my back, sore ass rubbed into the rough couch, hurt.
But then it started burning, and I forgot everything else. It seared and burned and I can’t even remember how it felt, indescribable unless you’re experiencing it but then you’re too incoherent to voice it. It seared and it felt like forever, and I was sure he’d gotten more of me, because unlike before every bit of my exposed pussy burned – no skin on my labia untouched, and he even rubbed it under the hood of my poor throbbing clit.
Roughly, he ordered me to my feet. He tried to force his way inside my ass and I had the presence of mind to ask for lube, which he did. I tried to relax my ass enough to let him inside but it was so hard to focus on that as I sobbed about the burning pain on my vulva – it hurt so badly! He reminded me that that was because I was being punished, and forced his cock inside me. He fucked me as I sobbed, and then he sat, ordering me to ride him and make him come or he’d sauce me again. I tried – I really did, but honestly, that didn’t work for me.
I hate riding him during anal and I usually won’t do it – I can usually only have anal if he’s pushing for it, and I won’t ever ask for it or initiate. Riding scares me because I feel like I can actually injure myself – I’m not sure if that’s possible, but either way, there was no threat that was working to get me to do that enough to get him to come. I tried to comply, but he finally ended up just fucking me really roughly. I usually come when he uses me like that, but I was so focused on the pain I was in that I didn’t.
But that didn’t mean it didn’t turn me on. Being used like that and having the pain of his cock stretching my asshole while my clit burned..
I was so wet. So so so wet. And when he finished, I touched myself, with no reserve, rolling my hips and stroking my clit with my finger tip as it burned. I begged him to finger fuck me, make me come, and he obliged – and it still burned.
I’m pretty sure he must have used more, or maybe I just lost all concept of time, but it felt like it burned for an eternity.
When it finally ebbed slightly, enough for me to have myself back under control, I leaned against him and kissed him gently.
And then rougher, forcing my tongue inside his mouth. Biting his lip. Biting his nippes, his chest, his hips and thighs. I knew it hurt like hell but he barely fought, and then I sucked him, hard. I wanted him hard again, I wanted his cum in my mouth – I tried to threaten him and told him I’d fuck him if he didn’t get hard fast enough, the implicit threat of the sauce that was still burning getting onto his cock – but he was spent, and eventually, I gave up, kissing him deeply and touching him.
We examined my bruising in the mirror in the bathroom after I cleaned up and saw the bruises that were just starting to come up. I liked it. He gently patted my ass – a normal gesture – and I winced. He laughed – the gesture had been a normal every day one, and it hadn’t been meant for pain.
Shortly after, he slept, but I was too wound up to sleep. I read some more spanking erotica, thought about toys. We had talked about buying toys. Canes interested me, but frightened me – you can do so much damage with them if you don’t know what you’re doing, and though we’d played around with bdsm stuff years before, it was only in the past few weeks that my interest had really peeked and we’d started really playing around. He didn’t know what he was doing, and I was afraid to buy one and then find out this was a fad for him that he wouldn’t be interested in next week.
But oh, they interested me. I found something I thought might be worth experimenting with – a chopstick, actually, and used it to thwap the soft insides of my thighs. It left some lovely stripes, but it was too small and too light to do anything more serious – but it was enough to show me I wanted it.
And in the back of my mind, the rest of the night, I thought of the sauce, and I thought of my ass. I wanted to do it, to feel it.
I don’t know why – morbid curiosity?
But it was late, and I didn’t.
But I wanted to.
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