He strode up the stairs of the hotel, thankful for small miracles. The flight had been long, but uneventful, the cabbie was more than happy to drive in relative silence, and the concierge gave him the key that had been left without so much as a raised eyebrow. So many things could have already derailed this little journey, and yet here he was, setting his bag down in order to enter the room. It was woefully late, so he turned the handle delicately, sliding the door open and deftly stepping out of his shoes, in order to pad across the carpets.
As he swept his bag and footwear into the room, he pivoted in place, easing the door closed with a nearly imperceptible click. Then he slid the deadbolt in place and turned back to face a dark, quiet room. An old air conditioner hummed in one corner, but what caught his attention was the woman, curled up on one of the two beds, her sleeping face lit dimly by a nearby desk lamp. She was dressed in a white dress with matching earrings and an elegant pearl necklace that was no doubt leaving quite the mark across her shoulder as she slumbered. He crept across the carpet, depositing his bag on the unoccupied bed before lowering himself next to her as lightly as his frame could muster.
She was beautiful, the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. Her makeup was applied skillfully, highlighting her soft features and prominent dimple. He slid a hand underneath her cheek and gently raised her head up from the comforter, to rest in his lap, stroking the back of his knuckles down her cheek.
In an instant she stirred awake, trying to sit bolt upright, but his free hand found her shoulder and held her tight.
“Shh, shh princess. It’s alright, I’m here. You’re safe,” his words were quiet and comforting, not the tone he always used but certainly not unfamiliar.
Her heartbeat pounded in her chest at the sudden disturbance, but the sensation of his hand locking her in place and the steady timbre of her voice quickly soothed her mind and she nuzzled into his leg sleepily.
“You’ve been crying,” he observed, tugging a lock of hair behind her ear and tracing the soft line down her cheek. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
She buried her face into his thigh and fought back a wave of sobs, knowing that if she let them overtake her now she would lose all control. Her stomach was wracked with a wave of nausea from the stress and exhaustion and she realized that the knuckles of her left hand had gone white with intensity, her fingernails burying themselves in his calf. Awkwardly she released her grip and lifted her head to look at him.
“Oh, Sir it has been fucking awful. Everything has just been so … so …” and with that, her heart ripped open and spilled out. She talked rapidly, almost not even pausing to breathe, telling him about backstabbing coworkers, indifferent management, and a hostile system designed to push her beyond any reasonable limits. She didn’t realize she was crying until she had been talking for some time, the tears streaming silently down her cheeks. Throughout her stream of consciousness venting, he remained quiet and calm, his voice gentle, his demeanor steady. He nodded, interjecting quiet affirmations of her strength, praising her resolve, and occasionally leaning down to kiss away a tear. A sudden sob bubbled up from deep inside her, some well of unexpressed anxiety sending a shiver throughout her entire body, at which point he shifted in the bed, pulling her frame on top of his and holding her in a tight embrace.
He held her in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, her heart was racing so fast it could have been minutes or hours, then gently broke the silence by kissing her forehead.
“My sweet girl, your strength never ceases to amaze me. A lesser soul would be twisted by this, looking at the world through harsh and bitter eyes, but look at you,” his hand fell to her chin, lifting her teary eyes to meet his own. “You speak with frustration, but you seek kindness and goodness from a world that has shown you little. You cry not from hopelessness but from the knowledge that things should be better. And for that,” he leaned in and kissed her on the lips, “I am so proud of you babygirl.”
She felt it then, the inexplicable warmth that started in her belly, feeling vaguely like nervous butterflies before spreading out through her extremities. She felt flushed then, certain she was blushing, but she also felt her pace slow, her blood pressure drop, and a certain serenity overtake her mind. It was in these moments of calm that the world made sense, and she knew why it was that she lived this life. She was powerful, independent, intelligent, capable, and thoroughly his slave.
“So,” he whispered, lightly kissing her shoulder, “do you want me to take this away?”
She thought for a moment, considered the exhaustion that had crept into her bones, the stress that had been tormenting her for weeks, but also the undeniable urge to please him. She reached a hand down between them to trace the outline of his cock, enjoying a moment of control, before replying.
“Please, Sir. I’m yours.”
He kissed her again, more passionately this time, but still measured. He knew how to push her, to open up a personality that many saw as reserved. Aggressive and playful, he teased her tongue with his own before spinning her over so that he was perched on top of her, pinning her down to the bed. Reaching down to grip the edges of her dress he began to pull firmly, watching the cleavage expand and then the unmistakable sound of fabric tearing as the already daring dress was suddenly opened to her navel.
She closed her eyes, resting her head on the pillow, feeling her hair splay out around her head. Thoughts raced through her mind, tried to take shape, but were quickly driven away by the sensation of his mouth on her breasts. She felt his tongue, rough and eager, slide across her nipples, punctuated with little bites and growls as he warmed her up. There was no anxiety, no worry, no thought. These sessions were meditative for her, a chance to simply exist in the moment, secure in her place in the world for once. She moaned quietly as his hand reached down, probing at her pussy, his fingers sliding up her sticky slit, teasing her clit.
Then he rolled her again, this time on her stomach, with two pillows stuffed underneath to force her hips up. Her dress was in tatters, but then she’d known it was going to happen, and that he would be more than eager to replace it. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered but what was coming.
“Repeat after me, princess,” he said, as he walked across and slowly unzipped his bag.
“I am yours, Sir,” he said.
Her reply started, “I am you…” but faltered as the heavy flogger came down across her ass, sending a sudden burst of pain throughout her mind. She recovered quickly, “I am yours, Sir,” finishing just before a second blow fell.
“I am your beautiful toy,” he said in a voice just above a whisper. Again she repeated, and again the flogger fell. He was precise, walking the impacts up and down her ass and thighs, so that no place was hit twice in a row, but every square inch of flesh was quickly a bright pink.
She knew the sayings by now, so when he stopped talking, she continued, in an almost trancelike state.
“I am kind and giving in my submission to You.”
The echoes of dull thuds continued to fill the room.
“I am intelligent and devoted in my worship of You.”
He grunted with exertion, out of practice after several months, watching the crimson skin turn darker, the first petals of bruises blooming across her tender flesh.
“I am thoughtful and talented in my service to You.”
Tears were streaming down her cheeks again, her words barely a whimper, but still she repeated the phrases from memory.
“I am honest with my Master. Master knows me fully and Master accepts me….loves me. I am perfect for my Master.”
She pressed her face into the pillow and whimpered the final line.
“I am perfect with my Master.”
Just like that, the pain stopped. The room fell silent. And her mind was empty. She knew some called this subspace, but it felt empty to her, a void in which she could simply exist without thought or consequence. Some part of her mind felt him sit next to her, his hand on her shoulder, knew that he was with her but most of her mind was simply adrift. He left her there for some time.
The reverie was broken by the feeling of his cock against her pussy, the swollen head tracing up and down her lips. She knew she was soaking wet, she knew that each thrust would bring exquisite pain, but she found enough clarity to say one last thing.
“Please Sir, fuck your little toy.”
With that, she collapsed limply across the pillows. He squeezed her hand once to check for consent and when she squeezed back, he thrust the full length of his cock into her waiting pussy. Her mind exploded, pleasure and pain fighting for control of the few functional nerve endings. She devolved into something primitive, a creature without words, living pure sensory experience.
He grasped her wrists, pulling her frame up off the bed, watching her face contort in the mirror as he fucked her faster. Harder. Her pussy felt exquisite, tightly wrapped around his cock, milking him with every stroke. Shifting his hips for a slightly better angle, he watched her eyes roll back, felt her twisting under him in the throes of a wordless orgasm, and spurred himself on. Each thrust send a little shockwave rippling through the bruised flesh of her ass, her breasts shaking wildly as she gave into this brutal fucking. It was pure and violent, primal and sacred.
He threw her to the side, tossing her onto her back and pinning her down, one hand wrapped tightly around her throat. He could feel it now, the orgasm building inside of him, the need to claim this beautiful little toy, this incredible woman that graced his life, and knew it would not be long.
“You. Are. Mine.”
The words were spoken as a grunt, barely comprehensible as speech, but the message was clear and their reactions were close to immediate. Her ankles locked behind his hips, pulling him deeper. Wordlessly she mouthed, “Please, Sir,” over and over, while his hips pounded into hers. His hand tightened around her throat, her face turning a deep pink, and then his grip released as the rush of orgasm overtook him. His cock pulsed deep within her pussy, pumping streams of cum deep into her willing form.
He collapsed next to her, drawing her up in a close cuddle. She rolled over to be the little spoon, wriggling her hips against his cock ever so slightly, and he kissed her shoulders several times before resting his head next to hers.
He reached over and pulled the cord, cutting off the light in the room, leaving everything still and silent.
“You okay?” he asked, his hands encircling her and squeezing her close.
“I am now,” she replied, closing her eyes and feeling a serenity where before there had been such strife.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/cic0pm/comforting_mf_ds_spanking
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