My Secret Fear, Part 4

Warmth surrounded me as he placed soft blankets around me. His hands, strong and sure, splayed across my upper back with his fingertips touching my shoulder blades. And I melted into  his touch as his lips pressed softly against the nape of my neck.

“Your trust humbles me.” His hands were warm and slick with lotion. As he talked, he slowly massaged my back. “The way you give yourself to me.”

He continued his sensuous strokes as he spoke in soft tones. “Vocalize and come as you wish. BE sure to remember your breathing.”

At his reminder, I fell into the slow, deep breaths of my yoga instruction. 

“Yes,” he said. “Very good.”

I closed my eyes as he transitioned from massage to a fingertip percussion of sorts. Up and down and along my spine he went.  Tap. Tap. Tap. Dipping lower at times to play his staccato beat along the curve of my backside.  Kneading there as well.  Tap. Tap. Tap. Knead. 

Gradually, the tap, tap, taps got harder.  Gradually, they became more focused on my backside.  And every so often he’d give a slap to one cheek or the other in between his taps.

I focused on my breathing and how the sensation of his touch warmed me from the outside in.  How the sharpness of a slap diffused into a pleasure than sank deep within and slowly spread.  I felt myself seeking the familiar feeling of inherent trust and submission that allowed me so much freedom.

I wasn’t expecting the rapid stroke that must have come from a cane and I grunted at the sharp sting.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yes, Master,” I said. Already the sting was subsiding, leaving behind a warm, spreading ache.

The next stroke was still singular, but a bit harder than the first.  I sucked in my breath.

“They won’t be any harder than that,” he said. “Should I continue?”