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A Space Inside My Head

There is a space inside my head and that space belongs to Versaw. Within this space is a natural sulphuric spring pumping into an old wash tub next to the Dolorous River. Beside this spring is a bench I sit upon with a naughty lass over my knee, a lass that once labeled me a bitch, breathing heavily and moaning as I paddled her with my right hand and stroked her lower back with my left. Beginning with her far buttock, I struck her softest parts in ten blow increments and moved from the top of her cheek to the bottom. By the time I had reached the bottom of her right thigh she was squirming and heaving her chest in a struggle to breath between the tears. She head held up surprisingly well considering she and withstood a severe paddling during which two correction stops were necessary. For reaching over her shoulder and attempting to shield herself from the onslaught of my angry palm, I struck each thigh, ten times and counted each stroke. Her cries echoed above even the current of the mud brown river and after a second volley and threat of the belt she conceded to keep her hands on the bench to her spanker's left. 

I stroked the Cecilian skin on her lower back and began to battle with the Dolorous River on sound superiority--flowing water verses spanking and cries of erotic pain. By the middle of her left cheek her moans quickly turned to tears and by the time I reached her left thigh she had begun to squirms and lament continuously. She burst into tears to show her near excruciating pain mixing with erotic pleasure of her skin as I stroke her spine. Wind chimed in to compete with her cries and pleas and the air and river combined threatened to overwhelm the pair of us until the moment she climaxed in nervous tolerance of pain and reached back for the third time since her punishment began. I shook my head with a smile that signaled my satisfaction at having provoked a demand for more pain. With a hug, I slipped my left hand down to the button of her jeans and opened the snap. As I dropped the zipper she looked upward in embarrassment.

"Drop those jeans," I commanded.

Submissively she whined but obeyed. This time I guided her over the wooden bench, carved out of a halved pine trunk, right next to the spring. Overwhelming scents of feminine allure emanated from her in various places and began to surround me. Her luscious lips made the shape of letter fifteen of the alphabet as I messaged her shoulders and upper back until once again moving south. She carried a bashful look in her eye when I removed my belt and began to wrap part of it around the hand gripping the buckle. With my right elbow at and perfect square angle, I lifted my hand above my right shoulder until the flexible length of leather rested upon my back. She hid her eyes until the moment I brought the belt down upon her in an arc.

to be continued