Morning After

I awake gently from a bizarre dream with the flavor of a very aroused feminine nipple still in my
mouth. As my awareness increases I find myself face down with an absolutely rigid erection
separating my groin from the mattress. My mind wanders back to the erotically distorted nipple
of my dream... red, wet , pointed, shinier than lipstick, glossy wet like the end of a dog's prick, its
rigid swelling moving deep in the home of its breast as my tongue licks it, caresses it, delights in
its sweetness... the image fades overtaken by a chorus of raw nerve endings screaming in my
brain. My attention turns again to my erection but is quickly diverted to the real source of the
signal: my buns are still on fire. Memories of last night's session crowd for attention as I attempt
to remember its course. Plodding through the warmup, it felt almost silly to start so softly, but in
four good rounds came the reward of going past the wooden hairbrush. Onward to the heavier
plastic hairbrush, then the oak short paddle, then the "flyswatter" until my forearm cramped.
Swelling noticeably and feeling like aroused beehives, cheeks burning under wood and plastic
finally ready for the long paddles. Stand up straight, relax deeply, breath out gently..."max
strength, right?... ready?"... is one ever? but I nod and the paddle whistles and lands making all
warm up efforts seem almost futile... only the knowledge of what it could have been without the
warmup makes that first one bearable... breath deep, again, relax completely, nod again... up the
mountain of sting. Ready?... and again: ready?... But the brain adapts... and the cheeks absorb...
and soon there were volleys of stinging blasts that taxed the fortitude and endurance of the
spanker as the swollen cheeks rippled and wobbled under the flat of the paddle. Alternating the
standing position with a deeply bent one, a light paddle with sharp holes homing in repeatedly on
the sitting spots, the engorged muscles became stiffened pads that could finally hold no more and
gently sweated a little moisture and even a little blood. Not yet satisfied with the swelling
achieved, the narrow sticks, like fat, flat canes dug into the crimson flesh and made lumps and
bumps and left first pale, then crimson streaks as they landed again and again. Sparing the
spanker's now aching shoulder I continued with a very refreshed right arm and a very stinging
flyswatter. But, where I had balanced precariously on the border of sting and pain before, now I
could use all the strength I could muster. Every stroke was a complete experience in which the
switch from giver to receiver occurred just after the moment of impact and allowed the catharsis
of the punisher and the punished to dance on the swollen flesh. After the limit of the endurance
of my right shoulder had been reached, came the enjoyment of the feelings in the well reddened
buns. Pull, squeeze, knead, rake with eager fingernails, enjoy the turgid cheeks. And now that the
burning was not quite so compelling as earlier in the night, the excitement had translated itself
into an erection that brooked no argument. It does not matter that you had climaxed several times
as I buried my tongue between your willing legs during the rest periods. It does not matter that
you were tired from the physical exertion of the spanking. Almost grumbling and half asleep but
fully willing you climb onto my waiting member ready for all I can give you. Your weight
squashes my buns into the mattress reviving the burning sting. My face is buried in your breasts,
my arms clutching your waist and lower back, my hands pulling up on your buttocks and tugging
on your labia while my hips cup and drive my flesh relentlessly into yours. We let the tension
build until it grows beyond our control and then release it to let our bodies complete their favorite
task while our minds lose themselves in the ecstacy of orgasm. It is a good morning after.

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