There’s a sound that makes me tremble, the slide of leather on fabric and the clinking of metal on metal. I lust for this all through the day, yet fear it as well. The tally grows with each of his texts. Have I obeyed? Did I waver? Yes? Or no? And each time, I make a choice to tell the truth or to lie.
The truth is I hate his belt. I despise the snap of leather in his palm. I detest the clink of the buckle. Each sound makes my blood run cold, knowing the flare of pain that will come next. The idea I must strip and bare myself to him enrages me, because it’s so incredibly silly and insane. Asinine really when I think about it.
Yet, his texts fly at me all day long. And my finger hovers over those buttons, damning myself with each admission of guilt. Today, my number has risen to seven. It’s not even noon!
And yet, as evening rolls around, I wait for him, kneeling, stripped naked, patiently waiting for his arrival with my back to the door. The creaking of the hinges alerts me to his homecoming, but I wait for the sound I crave…the buckle coming undone and the drag of the belt being pulled from his waist band.
“Fifteen, my lovely,” he says to me in a deep rumble. “Head down, and do not move.”
My pussy clenches, throbbing with the heat of his voice.
Yes, I hate the belt. I detest it with a passion.
What I love is what the belt does to him. It inflames him, engorges his cock, and drives him insane with the need to punish me with his superior strength. He’ll fuck me until I can no longer move. That is what I love…and for that I’ll take his belt.