Saturday, December 22, 2018

Saturday Spanks: Tomorrow's Gifts - #SaturdaySpanks #MM #HolidayRomance #99cents



For the last Saturday Spanking before Christmas, I have another bit from Tomorrow’s Gifts. This is an intense scene between Michael and Thorne Wilder – the ghost of Christmas future. It might be at the hands of a stranger, but Michael is finally getting want he has craved for so long: submission.



The stranger had removed his jacket. I let my eyes wander hungrily over his bare chest and linger on his prominent nipples, deep maroon contrasting with his tanned, golden skin. He was more slender than Neil but clearly strong. His shoulders, especially, showed well-defined muscle that rippled ominously when he reached for the crop.

Good boy,” he murmured, and I felt absurdly pleased. The shaft whistled through the air. The leather tip of the crop snapped loudly against the sofa. My heart jumped into my throat. “Lucky for you, I know just how to use this.” He gestured toward the armchair in the corner, where Neil normally sat to read the paper. “Bend over. You know what I want, Michael.”

It was the first time that he’d used my name in a while. That calmed me, a bit, taking the edge off my terror without diminishing my lust. I did know what he wanted, as if I could read his mind – or he could read mine.

I placed my hands on the padded arms, leaning over so that my back was nearly horizontal. My naked ass was presented to his view, at a most convenient height. I spread my thighs, knowing without being told that this was appropriate. My balls dangled in the gap, easily accessible. Vulnerable. On the Web, I’d occasionally watched videos of testicle torture, horrified but unable to stop myself. I didn’t want that, I’d told myself, trying to ignore the throbbing in my cock. If this dream-man tried something like that, would I stop him? Could I?

My mind whirled, full of filthy images and unspeakable desires. For a long while, though, my so-called master did nothing. I could tell that he was behind me; I felt the air move when he stepped into position. But he didn’t touch me. Gradually my chaotic emotions subsided, leaving nothing but the ache of lust. I tried to relax, to ready myself for what I knew was coming. The longer I waited, the more I craved the blond man’s attention, even if it hurt.

His hand hovered above my bare buttocks. I felt the heat emanating from his palm. He didn’t touch me, but I felt a ghostly caress as he trailed his fingers millimetres from my bare skin. Touch me, I wanted to beg. Somehow I knew that I was not supposed to speak. The spectral hand moved away, leaving my flesh crying for contact.

A whoosh. A snap. A line of fire laced across my butt and burned into my soul. I screamed, then choked back my cry, as another stroke seared the opposite cheek. A third blow sliced crosswise across both sides, triggering a howl of pain that I couldn’t suppress. God, what if Neil heard? What if he woke and saw me, bent over like a slut, offering my ass to this stranger?

Don’t worry, he can’t hear you.” The blows paused. I gasped, feeling the fiery tracks across my flesh dying down to a pleasurable heat. “We’re in a different time locus. You can scream all you want. He’ll never know.” He lashed out again. The crop danced across my skin, striking sparks wherever it landed. I yelled as each blow landed, free at last.

I was high on the fantasy. Finally, I was being beaten, by a gorgeous man who knew exactly what I needed. The abstract wonder fled quickly, however, replaced by the physical realities – intense pain and equally overwhelming pleasure. I dreaded each stroke, yet as soon as it arrived, even before the agony faded, I craved another. My new master had apparently inexhaustible energy. Again and again he slashed at my ass, until my whole backside was raw. He laid new welts on top of the old ones. My flesh screamed, sensitised to the point where the gentlest touch would wake painful echoes. And he was far from gentle.

I was beyond screaming. All I could do now was whimper, tears leaking out from under my closed eyelids, fluid dripping from my rock-hard cock. Yet I didn’t want him to stop. I was floating on a cloud of sensation, borne up by the knowledge that I pleased him.

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