I am sitting on the deck of this lovely air bnb overlooking the river. Watching large commercial ships, a steamboat full of tourists, and little motorboats blasting music parade by me. Walkers and joggers too, on the walkway, never more than a few at a time. The street lights illuminate them, and I am hidden in the growing dark.

I have permission to ‘take care of myself.’ To have an orgasm, that is.

“Slow and sensual,” he said. Paused, and added, “Edge yourself once first.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied, and if I rolled my eyes a tiny bit, it was too subtle to be seen.

Thoughts of the afternoon spanking linger with me.

Sir had shown an evil genius when he directed me to aim for my sit spots. I couldn’t feel any lingering effects on my skin – no welts or marks. But I notice a deeper ache in my sit spots, where the spoon and hanger had been – most impactful, I think, with a small smile at my choice of words. I would have to look for bruises tomorrow.

But now, I can focus on my slow journey to orgasm. I prefer to waiit until I’m in bed to finish, letting the waves of pleasure drain the sexual tension aroused by the spanking.

I put a hand on my breast, cupping it, feeling the weight in my hand. Then the other breast.

I begin a fantasy. I’ve been playing with ideas for a story that starts with my belt. I touch the belt I am wearing now – my Sir’s belt that I wear so I can feel his presence encircling and containing me. I wear it under my clothes, against my skin, a constant reminder.

In this fantasy,

My Sir takes me to a training school, where they immediately take away my clothes. He explains to me that I am to wear my belt at all times and obey the trainers as if they were my Sir. If they find me disobedient or displeasing in any way, they are free to remove the belt and use it to punish me, just as he might do.

I am dismayed by this, but he assures me they will strap the belt back on me once they’ve finished. He says that he is sure I’ll be a good girl, and he’ll be back often to check on me.

I want to protest, but he strokes my lips with his thumb, “There is no need to talk,” he says, “It is already planned.” With his other hand he grasps my right nipple between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard until I cry out.

I move a hand to my breast, trying to feel my nipple. But with my clothes and my bra on, it’s not working so well. I slip my hand down my top in the front, and find the nipple under my bra. Stroke it gently with my thumb.

“There you go,” he says. “MY good girl.”

I feel a rush of pleasure and move closer to him as if I were going to rub myself against him. But he puts his hands on my waist, holding the belt.

“I’m going to use the belt on you before I go,” he says. “Let’s play to see how many strokes.”

I can’t help smiling, it is a silly game and I know it’s rigged so I can’t win, but his pleasure becomes mine.

“Pick a number between one and ten,” he says.

“Two,” I say quickly – I know that hesitating too long brings its own punishment.

My hand moves to the other nipple, stroking, then squeezing more firmly.

“Oh, very good!” he says, “My number was eight. The difference is six, so I will give you six sets of twelve strokes on each side. Now, here’s this ottoman, bend over and put your hands -” but just as I have my hands placed, he says,

“No, your elbows. Yes. Put your elbows on the ottoman. Much better. I like the way it gives me full access to ALL parts of your bottom. Open your legs a little bit more. A little bit more. Oh, I’ll have to be careful or the belt might hit some more tender parts.”

With one hand, he strokes the tender parts between my thighs, first with his hand, probing my wetness, and then drawing the belt across the mound. I can’t restrain a soft, mmmmmm..

Reaching my nipple is still a bit awkward. I realize that I am alone and almost invisible on my deck. Smiling at how much I’ll enjoy telling my Sir this tomorrow, I pull the neckline of my top down, then raise my breast so that it is free of the bra but resting, uplifted, with the bra cup below it.

I release the other breast and pause, just appreciating the cool breeze on my exposed nipples, the sensation of them being raised, as if I were offering them.

Sir begins, the belt landing on one cheek, starting toward the top with four strokes, then lower with four more, then four more on the sit spots. I am whimpering by the time he finishes the first set.

I stroke and squeeze my nipples, alternating from left to right and back again. I begin to squirm a bit.

He follows the same pattern on the other cheek. My breath is ragged by the time he finishies that set. When he goes back to the first cheek, he starts on the sit spots, and I cry out. Then he works his way back up.

I am fascinated by the sense of freedom and pleasure of my exposed breasts. And turned on. Between the fantasy and the nipple play, it’s time to go find my little pink dildo.

Face washed and teeth brushed, I am tucked up in bed, gently caressing my pussy with one hand, a nipple with the other. I am already very wet. In my fantasy…

Sir is finishing the fifth set, and I am moaning and gasping and making sounds I didn’t know I could make. He stops for a minute and runs his finger over my clit. I cry out with pleasure as he begins to circle that sensitive spot, his finger moving at just the right place to –

And of course he stops. “Are you ready for one more set?” he asks.

I thought I would say no, thought I would plead for him to stop then. But when I opened my mouth to say so, I hear myself say, “Yes, Sir, I am.”

I reach for the pink dildo. Turn it on to the lowest setting, and begin to explore my pussy, sliding the vibrator inside my hot, wetness, pulling it back out to rest on my clit…

I am already so aroused, I have to pause a couple of times just to make it last. And then, just as I am ready to go over the top – I remember that I have to edge myself first. Reluctantly, I force myself to pull the dildo away. I wait, trying to calm my impatience.

When I think I’ve waited long enough, I begin again. My fantasy has moved to the next day…

The man, I suppose he is one of the trainers, leads me down a hallway. At regular intervals along the way, there is furniture of some sort – a spanking bench, an ottoman like the one Sir had made me bend over, a large, comfortable looking chair.

We stop in front of the chair. “Kneel,” he says, “Yes, right here, in front of the chair, but facing the hallway.

Obediently, I kneel, rocking back on my heels.

”Wait here,” he says. “One of the trainers will be along to work with you on using your mouth to please your Sir.”

The dildo quickly brings me back up to the peak, one hand on a nipple – I am all sensation as I reach the top – and tumble over, crying out softly, trembling as my body resets and relaxes.

It has been a full day. I fall asleep with a smile.