The storms were raging and when Palantilin told me his trains were all cancelled, I expected the worst, but no. The dear man battled on, using buses of all things, and made it to Carefree and Kinky anyway. Now that’s dedication.

When he arrived we snuggled up on a sofa together. Which was mostly lovely and snuggly and cosy. Except when his fingers found the lingering bruise on the front of my thigh. He  just couldn’t help squeezing and poking to make me mewl and gasp.


I do love watching his intense gaze though, as he runs his fingers over my marks. I love to see the glee in the twinkle of his eye and the smile that is equal parts smugness and joy. One thing I love just as much as pain is pleasing others. And if my pain can please someone else I’m ecstatic about it.

I had another way to please him, having discovered it was close to his birthday, I’d brought him a card and a present. The present being a royal blue crop with a small, leather tip that stings like a fucker. Once over the surprise he was very impressed with the present. I felt smugly content that I’d picked out something he appreciated so much.

Anticipation is a wonderful thing and I could feel it weighing heavy in the pit of my stomach as we snuggled and chatted to others around. There was some comment about poking sadists.

So I poked Palantilin. A few times.

“I’m counting.” He said.  So I stopped. But my offspring, who is a little bugger, kept poking him and it was adding to my tally. I mean, you’d think you could trust your own child to be on your side, right? Nope.

There were 70 odd pokes. But Palantilin isn’t that good with numbers, so it got rounded up to 100. Of course, I was completely mortified, you know me, I hate being beaten…bahaha!

We eventually moved off to look for a room, we ended up in one of the little private rooms. Soft floor, blue light, wall sized mirror. Palantilin had his birthday crop and I had brought along a few of my favourite toys, the bastard stick, the lil fecker and my favourite studded paddle.

I asked if he wanted my dress off (to be honest, there wasn’t much of it) and he said no, opting to hitch it up my hips instead. I think there’s something extra debauched about not taking clothes off, it just seems dirtier, kinkier somehow.

The crop was immediately brought into use, the stinging hits making me yelp and moan from the very start. After several hits to my thighs and butt, Palantilin stopped.

“So now you’re warmed up, I’m going to start counting.”

Counting makes it worse. Counting makes every strike more  some how. Every strike is followed by his calm tone saying a number and it makes me think of how many more I have to take.

He paused after every tenth stroke to give me a break.

“Ooh, you’re very focused.” I cursed as he hit the same spot on my thigh yet again.

“Thank you,” He smiled, “But now I’ve lost count, where were we?”

I distinctly couldn’t remember but I guessed.


“51” The questioning intonation let me know that it had definitely been more than that, possibly by quite a lot.


He continued from 52 and I was squirming and gasping, moaning and yelping with every stroke. I was sucking in air, panting and desperately holding on to hear that final number.


Palantilin gave me a lil’ break before asking me to roll over. Ouch. Just turning over was painful. It got more so as he grabbed the studded paddle and hit at my poor thighs until I was whimpering with pain.

He hitched my dress higher up my body, there isn’t much more sexy than another person revealing your flesh as they intently stare at what they reveal. Palantilin didn’t look for long before hitting my stomach with the damn paddle. It felt so good, I love impact on my wonderfully wobbly belly, but it was also incredibly intense.

Something I do when pain is particular sharp and close to my limits is flail my hands around. As I flailed I grasped and found his hand (the not beating one) and my heart melted when he gripped my hand in his. He continued to hit me so brutally, so beautifully whilst holding my hand and giving me the comfort I needed. The juxtaposition was enough to make my eyes wet, I didn’t cry but the tenderness mixed with the violence brought me close.

The perfect rest from pain is pleasure, so I was more than eager to suck Palantilin’s dick for a while. It is delightful. And seeing it spring eager and hard from his trousers makes my cunt throb. Knowing that him hurting me turns him on so much turns me on all the more, because you know the beating had me wet and hot because it’s me.

I delightfully and diligently worked on his dick as he wickedly and cruelly poked and stroked at my sore bits. My whimpers made him throb, as I tried really hard to concentrate on giving head, not reacting to the pain.

I looked up at him, begging with my eyes for him to use me. It was so hot, holding his gaze as I sucked him. Seeing the intent pleasure on his face. Knowing the effect I was having on him.

He took pity on me after a while, slipped his fingers down into my knickers, sought my clit and swiftly and softly brought me to orgasm. God, I’m lucky. I’m even luckier as he slid his fingers lower and pressed into me, finger fucking me to more pleasure, making me whimper and moan as my cunt sloshed and slurped betraying how wet I really was. My cheeks flushed at that very obvious demonstration of my arousal.

There was more pain before more pleasure. Beaten side to side and back again, sobbing and screaming and close, oh so very close to tears. Not in a bad way, not at all. I endured because I wanted to because I trust Palantilin, if I’d have needed to I would have brought things to a stop but I didn’t want to. I wanted to go wherever he took me. I knew if I did cry, he would build me back up. He is such a kind, thoughtful man, I knew he’d never do anything to hurt me in a way I didn’t like or want.

He realised I was that close, dropped the paddle and moved me back to sucking him once more. I was leaning up on my elbow and he was on his knees before me. I held his hips as I sucked, gripped his butt (oooh, it’s so pert and peachy!) and gently stroked at the dip of his back.

He moved his cock in my mouth and at one point it sprang out with an audible pop. We both laughed at that. I loved that moment of intimate fun. After a while we moved round, he hadn’t come yet, but there’s only so long you can be comfortable on your knees. He cuddled up into me and as I told him how hot I’d found what he’d done to me, he wanked.

It was such a thrill to see my words arousing Palantilin. To whisper seductively in his ear and hear the catch in his breath. To feel the vibrations of his lust as his arm moved quicker as my words got dirtier and more urgent  then finally  to see the eruption of his orgasm. All at the sound of my voice.

We lay  together, whispering, laughing and cuddling close. After the violence, after the ecstasy, after the wet deluge of the storm we found calm in each others arms.

Content as deep as the preceding lust.

Climatic contrasts.