Then next smacks I lay down aren’t easy or sweet. They’re not malicious either. They’re for him so that he can break down and break the emotional loop he’s in, accelerating the journey to switching tracks. If a spanking is easy to take, it doesn’t have the same effect. It’s got to be the right magnitude for what he’s going through.
Jack cries out with each smack, hanging onto the pillow for dear life. His ass rises and rises, meeting my hand, rather than shying away from it. That doesn’t last long though and without meaning to, he starts dodging my hand. Well, trying to. I have excellent hand-eye coordination.
“No, baby. You keep that ass right where I can spank it.”
He whimpers and nods into the pillow.
This is the most vital part: when we’ve reached this level of pain. If I stop now, he won’t get the benefit and I don’t intend on failing him even though his battle is breaking my heart. He hasn’t said much. Hasn’t even been all that vocal. I want at least a few curse words outta him. Jack’s a sturdy hockey player who can take a helluva lot more than I’ve dished out so far.
It’s time to turn the volume way up.
Even my hand’s hurting after ten of my best to his left cheek and since he knows what coming to his right—or so he thinks he does—he bucks like a bronco trying to get away.
“Merc, no. Please.”
I stop. “Was that a real no, baby?” I check. I’m starting to know his struggling no from his real no, but we’re still new at this. Never a bad idea to check in.
“Noooo,” he groans and pounds on the bed. “I’m nowhere near done and definitely nowhere near my threshold. Just fuckin’ hurts.”
I press my non-spanking palm against his back. “You’re doing awesome, buttercup. C’mon. Let it all out.”
I get right back to it at the same brutal pace and sharpness and lay down five in a row to his right, skipping a beat by surprising him with one to his left. I don’t want him to get used to a rhythm anymore. Now, it’s about chaos and pain and battle.
“Fuck. Fuck!” he shouts. “It’s not fair. Not fair, Merc. I shouldn’t have to keep breaking up with him.”
There’s grunting and hissing and even some kicking.
“It tears me apart to see him like that. I feel like the worst person.” He claws at the sheets and pounds on the mattress with his fist as I continue my mission, spanking at the same rough tenacity with no rhyme or reason to my smacks. He can’t tell what’s coming. He growls, frustrated.
Jack’s hands clench and his arms move with the tempting desire to block the assault of my palm. It’ll make half the journey to his backside before he pulls it back and clings to the bed linen to stop himself. He forces his ass to remain in target range, but he’s losing the struggle. Perfect.
A spankee mostly struggles during a spanking when they haven’t let go and succumbed to it. That’s why the rule of not being able to escape any part of a spanking is vital. If that piece doesn’t exist, there’s nothing to surrender to. He needs to eventually accept that there’s nowhere for his ass to go. It’s staying right here to get blistered until it’s done.
“C’mon, Jack,” I encourage him as I keep smacking away, despite his whimpers and twisting. “Let go, baby. You’re gonna be okay. Rhett’s gonna be okay.”
“His dad’s a piece of shit.”
“Agreed.”
“Ugh, I don’t want to think that of someone though,” he whines into the pillow as I keep spanking him.
He’s adorable and kind-hearted. Me less so. I have no issues calling a spade a spade.
Something gives. Jack’s body loses all tension like it’s been suddenly sucked out of him. Sobs rack his ribcage. I change pace and intensity again, going softer. He’s reached a pain point where I don’t need to go as hard and it’ll still have a similar feel, boring to the heart of him.
Interspersing with some gentle rubbing, I let him cry in peace as I slow my smacks down to none. He’s a heavy one, but with some coaxing and a little manhandling, I get him into place on the bed and replace his pillow for me. We cling to each other, and I close my eyes. His diaphragm shakes against my chest. I inhale the faint scent of leather still clinging to his skin mixed with his fresh, unique Jack scent.
“You crying too, Merc?”
I catch a tear with my thumb. “Can’t help it. I know you needed that, but it’s hard watching you struggle. I’ll always give you want you need, but I’d much rather be spanking your naughty ass.”
He kisses me with wet tear-soaked lips and the salty flavor bursts across my tongue. “It was perfect, Merc. Everything about it. Safe. Loved. Utterly yours. That’s how I’m feelin’.” Jack sniffles, squeezing tighter.
“Fuck yeah, you’re mine. That should go on a coffee mug.”
My hands slide down to his heated ass unbidden and now his chest rumbles for a new reason, a much better reason. Laughter pours from his throat. “Can’t help yourself, eh? Gotta check your handiwork.”
“Mmmhmm.” His growing erection presses into my thigh. “I’m wearing too many clothes.”
