Reflections on a Sore Bottom

You could have warned me it was going to sting so much.  After all, we both knew you were the more experienced of us. The one who'd taken a woman there before... that place where you took me today.  That whimpering, stingy, struggling, gushy, painful happy place which centered around my ass, my pussy, and your hard as iron hand.

For some reason, I wasn't expecting a sting.  More of a thud, really, is how I thought it would be -- painful, but not abrupt.  Not like a wasp, but more of like a toe stub.  Thunder, not lightning.  I don't know what I was thinking.

You were gentle with me -- I know that now, as I sit (okay, not really -- as I recline) upon my bed, fingers creeping backwards every now and then to test the ever so slight soreness that you said would be gone before the night. 

Except, I don't want it to be.  Gone, that is -- I want the soreness to remain and remind me of the intoxicating futility of my struggles until the next time you pull me over your lap. 

And Sir -- may we try the paddle?

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Just a quick prose piece that came to my mind this morning :-)  The pretty paddle picture was found here.

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