Chapter 1: by Jill Smith

I stood naked in front of the full-length three-way mirror. I considered myself to be in pretty good shape for having had two kids and pushing forty. My tummy was still flat and firm and my breasts, which weren't terribly large, still looked respectable with a sag that was hardly noticeable. My ass and legs still looked great. They had always looked great and things hadn't changed. I worked hard to maintain this body, I thought to myself, and it pleased me to see that my efforts were paying off.

I touched my right hand to my throat and began to gently trail my fingers down over my breast. There was a raised welt just above my nipple and I shivered slightly as my fingers traversed it. My fingers continued over my nipple and down my abdomen, over additional welts and stripes, and I smiled as I remembered watching David, his heated body glistening with excitement and perspiration, whip the black leather belt into my naked skin. The marks ran all the way down to my knees. There were twenty of them. Actually there were more than twenty. David struck the front of my naked body twenty times but in many cases both edges of the belt bit into my skin and resulted in two marks, one for each edge.

I was proud of the fact that I had received my beating without any restraints. I simply stood at attention with my hands on my head while I was given forty strokes with the belt, twenty front and twenty back. The lack of restraints was my affirmation of the fact that the beating was consensual, that I was part of it. I can't say that I received my beating with complete equanimity though. I'm sure I flinched, twisted, arched and writhed as the belt bit into me. I know that I groaned aloud and cried. All of these things aroused David tremendously, of course. Half way through the beating, ten front and ten back, I was given a reprieve. I got to lay on my back on the kitchen table with my knees up while David thoroughly fucked me. He has a wonderful way of drawing it out. He'd start slow and raise the rhythm until his loins were banging hard against my thighs and then slow the pace and begin again. He has phenomenal self-control.

He liked to make me beg for it. Make me scream, "Fuck me! Fuck me! Harder! Please!" or something like that. Who knows what you scream before and during an orgasm.