More by Lily Harlem Page A

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