The Motivator, Part Six

Hey Friends!

I’m still half asleep, so…zzzzzzz. Okay, I just had a dream that I was with William Shatner. No, no spanking or sex or anything like that thankfully. I kept giving him Star Trek toys to play with (my husband and I have an extensive collection in real life). Totally amusing. He really got into it and played with the communicator and pretended to be back on the show. I asked him if he still got fan mail from Star Trek and he said, yes, but not as much as he used to. Then Hubby woke me up.

Sort of. I’m still…zzzzzzzzz. I’m back. So here’s the next chapter of The Motivator and it’s payoff time for all you spankos. Yay!

Man, this week, I’ve been writing mostly Discipline and Desire stuff and it was such a bummer because Mr. Carlyle’s been sick. For our 18th wedding anniversary, I gave him my cold. Wasn’t that nice of me? I’ve been so frustrated with my boy toy broken. Especially because writing the spanky stuff gets me so horny. Oh, well. This is what vibrators are for.

Anyhoo, I’ll be back next week. Until then, enjoy my story and I hope you all get to spank or be spanked by a loved one. Or an acquaintance. By someone fun!

Hugs,
Michelle


“I want you to reach over and grab the opposite edge of the table, Heather. That’s it, all the way over. Good girl. Now do not let go unless I tell you to, you understand me?”

“Yes, Curt.”

Oh, the obedient tone! He got harder. He was glad she couldn’t see him, his pants were completely tented.

“All right, now. I’m going to start. If you let go or try to cover yourself or do anything but hang on, I will stop and start all over again, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Curt.”

“Good.”

He waited a good full few minutes. Let her anticipate the punishment. He walked over and took her by the hips and positioned her a bit better. Moved her legs apart just a bit. Adjusted her to make her ass a bit higher. Then he stepped back. And waited. Her breathing increased. This was such fun!

He took hold of his paddle and got himself into a good position next to her.

Then he rested his hand on the small of her back. Her skin was so soft. A thousand ways of making love to her crossed his mind. He couldn’t resist and ran his hand over her lovely, lovely derrierre.

“Yes, I think you’re finally ready.”

He waited another beat. He wanted her unprepared. Right when he saw her relax, he reached far back and came down on her unprotected, tender behind with his paddle. A satisfying loud slap rewarded him.

She shrieked and let go of the table. Then immediately grabbed hold again. He smiled. She was trying. Good.

He eased up for the next strikes; he hit her hard, but not as hard as he would shortly. He wanted to build the punishment. Build the tension, increase the pain bit by bit until the climax to his performance where the little girl would learn never to let herself down again.

Her rear end began to glow pink. But he wouldn’t stop until it was mottled with purple bruises. This little girl needed to learn a lesson.

After warming her up a bit, he began to work her ass. He started up top, across both buns, then he alternated, one cheek then the other. Each strike sent ripples across her tender flesh. He kept checking her expression to gauge her pain level. The tears had started, but she was trying to be brave. Admirable. But he was definitely getting through to her. She began dancing a bit with her feet.

“Keep those feet on the ground, Heather,” he bit out harshly. She obeyed him instantly. Excellent.

He began concentrating on her sit spots, the most important area on a woman’s behind. The most sensitive, the one place that left the most lasting impression. He started fairly lightly, working the paddle against her taut behind, then built up to where he was close to putting his all into it. One spot, then the other, again and again and again. The leather paddle swished through the air, the strikes making louder and louder slap sounds.

She finally broke down and began sobbing. Good, she was almost done.

He would end with attentions to both cheeks at once. He started a bit lightly, then built up the rhythm and the strength until he was really letting her have it with the paddle.

And God bless the little girl, she bore it. She took it and didn’t let go of the edge of the table, once.

Her ass was fire engine red, it was mottled with purple bruises, it was time to put the finishing touches on his masterpiece. And oh, her ass was a sight. Swollen now, the color so inviting. Her long beautiful legs shook with the pain, her prone position, so vulnerable, so lovely, the hint of her sex peeking out, it took much of his inner resolve not to ram himself inside her. As it was, his granite hard member pressed painfully against his pants. He was so close to coming, it wasn’t funny.

He brought his arm back far and let loose with the last few swats to her overwhelmed rear, causing her to shriek loudly.

He put the paddle down on the table and took his hand off her back.

“You stay there, now Heather. Just stay there.”

She collapsed against the table, weeping and sobbing. Now he’d have to see what the aftermath brought. She would either turn him out and he’d never see her again, or she be contrite and promise never to disappoint him or herself again. He prayed it was the latter. He’d rarely had this much fun punishing someone. And she was so lovely. Those legs! That fine ass!

He put the paddle back in his coat and then returned to her. He forced himself to keep cool. All he wanted to do was plunge her depths, but she could hate him for all he knew.

She was still crying fairly hard. He waited until she quieted some.

He laid a hand on the small of her back, she jumped.

“Easy, Heather, easy. Take it easy. You did very well. I’m very proud of you. You obeyed me and took your punishment like a good girl. Now you won’t disappoint me or yourself again, will you?”

“No,” she croaked out.

“Good girl. Now, I want you to go over and lie face down on the couch. Your punishment is over. But I want you to keep your pants down, all right?”

“O-okay,” she stammered, sobbing still.

©2007 or something, Michelle Carlyle