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This is a work of fiction.
All characters, places and events are from the authors’ imagination. Any
resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely
coincidental.

All rights reserved.

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© Lily Harlem & Natalie Dae 2012

Cover Art by Emmy Ellis (Posh Gosh) © 2012

www.lilyharlem.com

www.emmyellis.com

Her

Don’t
just slap me once, it’s not enough. I want more. I want you to strike my ass,
your fingertips just brushing my cunt lips, and I want you to do it again and
again. I heard a woman can come just from being slapped like that. Don’t you
want to try it? Don’t you want to see if it works? Don’t you want to know that
you can get me off just by those delicious hits?

I’ll
get on my hands and knees for you, and you can stand beside the bed, the
perfect position. I’ll tilt my ass up and spread my legs so you can see
everything—my widened ass cleft, my sopping cunt—and wait for you
to hit me. The waiting is the best part, you know. Waiting for that first hit,
for the bite of skin on skin, then anticipating those that will follow. And
those that follow will
burn
—burn so hot that I’ll want to tell you
to stop yet at the same time I’ll wish for you to keep going. To see if the
hotter it gets the hotter I get. To see if your fingertips meeting with my
fleshy cunt does what it’s supposed to do. You could even slap my whole pussy,
middle fingertip striking my clit, just so I could say that one time, just
one
time
I was spanked.

It
wouldn’t be so difficult once you got started, I promise. You’d see me getting
high, hear me grunting and groaning, and fuck, wouldn’t that just make you
hard? I’d be at your mercy. You’d be the one in control, deciding how hard to
hit and how often. And if it’s not enough, I’ll tell you.

“More!
I want more!”

If
I knew you were hitting me and playing with your cock at the same time, that
would get me off faster. Knowing you were enjoying it as much as me…I couldn’t
ask for more than that. And if you used lube on your dick, and I could hear you
working yourself over… The sounds created would be just like those you make
when you’re finger-fucking my cunt. Do you like that sound? It makes your
breathing shorter, makes you growl a little in your throat, and that’s what
lube on your cock does for me. Gets me hot.

You’ve
slapped me once in the past, just the once, and I remember waiting for the next
blow. It never came, yet throughout our fuck I still waited, thinking,
He’ll
do it again in a minute. Please do it again.
I never said I was
disappointed when a follow-up slap didn’t come—it had taken all your
courage to hit me as it was—but I was. Disappointed and wanting.

I
wanted more—moremoremore—and now’s the time to give it to me.

Will
you try it? For me?

Him

You
seem to want more. I think. But more what? I’m leaning towards slaps but it
could just be fucking or cock or maybe even oral. You whimper and writhe when I
get that just right. I bloody love it.

But
no, it’s not oral. I’m pretty sure, at least, because we do that a lot anyway.

Damn,
if only you would just say it. Spit it out and fuck the blushes, yours and
mine. Then I would know where I stood. If it’s a spank you want, just tell me
and I’ll deal with it. I’ll have to.

I
think I know why you’re hesitating. I’m a nice guy, too nice, the sort who lets
a fly out of the window rather than splats it. So why the hell would I want to
hit your ass? Make your perfect, delicate pale flesh burn scarlet with my
handprints? I can visualise it now, the shape of my palm, my fingers and thumb,
outlined like a pornographic hand painting on your rump. The thought of it is
hot, too hot to be trusted.

I
did it once. It felt good, fuck, it looked good too. Your quivering butt globes
offered up, my dick sliding into your slickness and heading towards a ball-squeezing
crescendo.

“Spank
me,” you’d gasped. “Please, spank me. Spank me now.”

After
the shock of hearing those words had settled, my palm began to tingle. Then,
before I knew what had happened, I’d hit you. A thrilling wave of absolute
possession crested through me and I shunted in so deep I could feel your
smooth, hard cervix on the head of my cock. My guts clenched as I watched the
ripple of the impact glide over your soft flesh, wobbling the buttock I adored
with every inch of my being.

You
arched your spine, thrust forward. Shoved backwards onto me, as if seeking
more. Your small yelp echoed around the bedroom then drove into my chest with a
force that shocked me.

Shit.
What have I done?

That
was the first time I’d ever hit a woman. The strength of my blow had been
barely controlled. I’d just let loose, swung down and struck. The air rushing
around my hand, my own skin smarting from the contact and my biceps bunching
and tense. In less than a minute my cock surged, spunk boiling up from my
bollocks and bursting into your tight cunt.

As
my climax ripped through me so did horror. Raising a hand to my wife had turned
me on. Fuck, it had even brought an orgasm, that had previously been under
control, smashing through me. I hadn’t even waited for you to come.

Shit.

I
knew then I couldn’t do it again. Hit you, that is, and I didn’t have the
self-control to go for another slap. I was too strong—what if I really
hurt you? Made you bruise, bleed, not be able to sit down for a week?

No,
despite the fact my cock had erupted within seconds of that single spank, and
my head had filled with images of me repeating it over and over until you came
too with a bright red ass, I couldn’t do it.

I
don’t hit women. I’m a good guy.

Her

It
isn’t the same. Hitting me like that isn’t abuse. I want it. I
want
you
to spank me. It isn’t as though you’d be hurting me, not really, not in the way
you’d think. The pain, so I’ve read, turns to pleasure. I
know
that’s
difficult to imagine—I mean, we’ve all been slapped at some point in our
lives and it hurt, right?—but how will I know if it
does
turn to
pleasure unless we try it? How will I know that mind-bending bliss that people
write about if you never give it a shot?

Yes,
you’re a good guy, I know that, but if we’re both consenting and you want it
too, then what’s the problem? Take the hang-up out of your head. Don’t think of
it that you hit your wife and enjoyed it. That’s not the kind of hit you mean
and you know it. This is different. I swear to damn God it’s different.

So
now you’ve confessed you liked it. That’s good. I thought I’d asked you to do
something you’d hate, something that would make me look like a pervert, a woman
forcing you to act against your will, and that isn’t what I meant. I just
wanted to explore, to see how new things work. If I’m honest, although I know
we’re in love, I’m frightened. What if things get stale? What if we don’t tell
one another what we want and it all goes wrong? Oh, I know other women don’t
interest you, but all the same, there’s a little creeping thought inside my
head sometimes that tells me someone else would be better for you. Someone else
would want to try new things.

I
sound like I want to use sex to keep you by my side, but I don’t mean it that
way. I know you’re too shy to say what you want. Take the other day, for
instance. We were alone and I asked you what you wanted. You said you couldn’t
tell me. I encouraged you to open up, but you said to give you time, that you
needed to think about how to tell me. I said, “Just blurt it out!” Remember
that? And you said, “I will one day. I just can’t do it now.”

So
I sat and wondered. Thought about what you could possibly want that we haven’t
tried, and then, the next time we had sex, I think you told me in your own way.
I don’t want you to blush now, me bringing it up like this, but when you put
your thumb in my cunt and your finger up my ass at the same time, told me to
ride it, that was it, wasn’t it?

You
could have said. You
should
have said, because talking about it would
have made everything hotter. Don’t get me wrong, it was hot as hell that night,
and the surprise of you doing that almost took my breath away. Wasn’t it so
damn exciting? To get what you wanted? I was so pleased and horny that you’d
finally shown me. Now imagine that from my side of the fence. Imagine how horny
you’d feel if you spanked me more than once and I came hard and fast.

Imagine
it.

Him

How
did you know that was my fantasy? It amazes me constantly that you can read me
like you do. But yes. I wanted to feel you come apart like that, while I had my
fingers in your ass and your pussy. I’d been thinking of it for months, ever
since I’d first started to toy with your ass-hole. Circling it, easing in that
tiny amount, usually when I was giving you oral and you were just about to
come. I figured it wouldn’t hurt then, you know, if were distracted by the
other, stronger sensations going on.

I
didn’t hurt you, did I?

Shit,
I am so worried about hurting you. You’re strong on the inside, when it counts,
I know. But physically? That scares me. You’re little and soft—I can feel
your ribs when I hold you, the slim bones of your arms and legs when you cling
to me. I know you say you want to lose a bit of weight, but I don’t think you
should. I love you the way you are and wouldn’t want you to be any more
delicate. I would never be able to do what you want me to then, would I?

Do
I want to do it? I think so. If you’re sure, one hundred percent. I want to
make you happy. I want to make it fair. I’ve had one fantasy come true, you
should get yours.

But
what if I start spanking you and you realise too late that it hurts in a bad
way and you hate it and want me to stop? But by then you’d be bruised and sore,
red and smarting. I would hate it. That would make me hate myself.

And
what if I can’t stop? You make me lose my mind sometimes—so damn sexy—what
if I lose my ability to think straight? I’m strong, stronger than you by
probably ten times. I could damage you, more than a bruise. That would be
unforgiveable. I might keep on going, tanning your hide when you wish I’d
stopped.

But
then, what if what you say is true and you could come just from a spank if it
feels right? Is it the endorphins or something? It sounds like you would know,
you’ve been reading about it and stuff.

I’m
trying to be honest now, like you want me to be, and not be so damn shy about
it. So truthfully, it turns me on, makes me horny to think of you over my
knee—would you want it like that?—and my hand coming down on your
rump. I’d like to see you quiver and shake, feel your stomach pressed into my
thighs and watch your ass go redder and redder. I’d like to experience the burn
on my palm growing with the shine of your cheeks.

It
would be good like that, I think. I’d be able to check your cunt for wetness.
That would be another way for me to measure how much you liked it, wouldn’t it?

But
should we have a stop word?

Her

So
you know about stop words. You never said. I mean, you never tell me anything
like that. That’s not a criticism, by the way, just…you know, you never
say
.
I suppose I’m guilty of that too—not saying, not speaking out—and I
know how embarrassing it is, but it shouldn’t be. Not when it’s just us. No one
else will hear you, me, and we won’t tell a soul.