Take Me Hard: Arizona Heat 3

by Douglas, Katie

  I realized I was standing completely bared to him. Utterly exposed. Every part of me. There were no secrets. No tricks to make my boobs look bigger. I was just me, standing before him. It took a lot of trust to be naked like this in broad daylight, even in a private room in someone’s house.

  I’d always thought I was confident and comfortable with how I looked, but this whole ordeal had made me realize I’d been lying to myself about whether I cared about my appearance or not. Sharing my naked form with someone who wanted to do sexy things with me wasn’t at all the same as changing between scenes in an all-girls’ dressing room.

  “From now on, when you enter this room, unless you’re wearing a costume, you are to take your clothes off immediately. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, what?”

  How many times had I forgotten to call him ‘sir’ while I’d wrestled with my sudden and unexpected body image issues?

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Good girl.” It ought to have been demeaning when he called me that, but instead, it was fulfilling for reasons I couldn’t explain.

  He walked to the far end of the room and took hold of one of the odd items of furniture, pulling it out several yards until there was empty floor surrounding it. “Know what this is?”

  I shook my head. It looked like it belonged in a gym.

  “Use your words,” he prompted.

  “No, sir, I don’t know what it is,” I replied.

  “This is a spanking bench. You lay over it, and it keeps your butt in the ideal position for spanking. Let me help you onto it.”

  “Am I in trouble?”

  “Not yet. But I like impact play a lot, and I want to get an idea about what you can take. At the same time, you can get a sense about what different implements feel like. It’s a good way to start a first session together.”

  “What if I don’t like spanking?” It was probably an academic question, since my nipples were hardening painfully quickly from just thinking about what was to come, but I was curious about his answer.

  He darted forward and fisted my hair, pulling on it just enough to tip my head back and ignite sparks of sensation through my scalp. I moaned.

  “There are plenty of ways we can play together, that don’t involve spanking. But your pupils are already dilating. Your mouth has fallen open. Your breathing has slowed down and your eyes have become hooded. Your whole body is relaxing. And I’m just gently pulling your hair. It all leads me to think you like pain. You probably have no idea what your body’s going to do today.” He sounded like he knew something I didn’t.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So you’re going to get over the spanking bench like a good girl. If it’s too much, what do you say?”

  “Red,” I breathed. He tugged on my hair harder and I whimpered as the surface of my scalp was ignited with more pain.

  “Red, what?” he prompted.

  Oops.

  “Red, sir.”

  “Better. If I have to remind you again, you will have earned a punishment.”

  He released my hair and I realized I needed to not be responsible for staying upright, because my body was relaxing so much I was struggling to balance. I let him guide me over the spanking bench. I’d had a hard time visualizing how I would be arranged on the bench. My ass was thrust up in the air, behind me, and my head was a little lower, but not too low. My knees were bent and my feet rested on something padded on either side of the bench.

  The position gave me a deep sense of vulnerability, like he could see places I’d never looked at before. A trickle of liquid decided it was a good time to escape from my pussy and move down my leg. I hated that he would see it.

  “How does that feel? Does your leg hurt at all?” he asked.

  It had ached while he was positioning me, but now I wasn’t moving, it seemed fine.

  “I’m okay, sir.”

  “Tell me if it hurts.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He patted my bare ass and walked away. My ears strained. Where was he going? What was he planning? Just how bad was a spanking on my naked bottom going to be? The uncertainty served to remind me just how out of control I was, right now. What if he was a crazy guy who was going to do something awful while I was helpless? I tried not to think about that.

  “I’m going to tie you to the bench, because it’s important that you stay in the correct position. More experienced submissives can take a full caning without moving at all, but since this is your first time doing any of this, I want to make it easier on you.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If any of your limbs start feeling numb or if the ropes are too tight, I want you to tell me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The rope touched my left wrist, first, and I was surprised it felt soft against my skin. I’d expected something coarse, like the stuff people used for gardening, but this was clearly different.

  He slipped two fingers between the rope and my wrist, then the rope tugged against me when he tied it off. He tied my right wrist in the same way.

  “I’m leaving your injured leg free. Try not to kick it.” Rope circled my right ankle and it didn’t matter that he’d left the other one untied, because there was no way I was escaping from this position. I was completely at his mercy.

  My deepest fantasy was coming true. I was being tied up by a hot cowboy and made to do whatever he wanted.

  “This is a riding crop,” he said, walking around in front of my face to show me. I’d seen them before, on T.V. shows. In real life, the riding crop was much bigger than I’d expected. And it looked so hard, made of dark, shining leather. My eyes were still goggling when he held it in front of my nose.

  “Inhale.” His voice swirled around me, along with the intoxicating scent of fresh leather. My mouth began to water and I wasn’t sure why.

  “Don’t move.” The instruction was a little moot, since I was tied up over the spanking bench.

  A biting pain burst in a very small area, right in the middle of my right butt cheek. I inhaled sharply. It faded away quickly, leaving only the memory. Clay was quick to remind me. In the same place on the other side, he landed a sudden spark about the size of a quarter. As before, it didn’t linger. The after-effects could be felt in my pussy, however, and my small breasts, pressed up against the padded leather bench, ached and begged for attention.

  “How are you feeling? Green, orange, or red?” he asked.

  “Green, sir,” I managed, my voice thick.

  “Good. Because we’ve barely begun.” He swung the crop again, and before I could process the slight pain, he had moved it to another area of my ass, studding my butt with constellations of light, never catching the same place twice, while he worked to build a picture that was very different to the disconnected swats he’d first landed.

  Undoubtedly, he was painting my ass with sensation. The sparks where he’d hit me didn’t have time to fade before he whipped me again and again, and I was pulled into a constant state of my ass being on fire, as fresh pain gave the canvas depth.

  Creating an image with dots of paint was called pointillism, I remembered from high school art classes. We’d all produced diligent but uninspired copies of a field of poppies. The way my brush had gone splat-splat-splat on the page of my sketchbook was almost identical to the way the crop was hitting my ass.

  A field of red poppies burned into my skin by the time he stopped, but they were fleeting, fading already, like snowflakes in the rain. They left behind a warm glow that tingled across my whole ass. I sighed wistfully as my body hummed and begged for more.

  Chapter 4

  “Your greatest pains become your greatest strengths.” — Drew Barrymore

  Kinsley

  “Green, orange, or red?” His voice was low but still commanding as he assessed the situation like an impartial observer.

  “Green, sir.”

  “What did you think of the riding crop?”

  “It’s
so pretty, sir.” I couldn’t think of another way to describe it.

  “Isn’t it? Your ass became quite beautiful, too, covered in all those red marks.”

  “Are they still there, sir?” I was suddenly overcome with the need to see them.

  “Mostly. Delicate pink rose petals that look so beautiful against your pale skin. I plan to use the paddle next. It’s a little different.” He walked away for a moment, never leaving the room, and when he returned, he held a flat, round implement with a handle, that looked like a bat for some sport or other.

  “A paddle has a very different feel compared to a crop. There are many shapes and sizes of paddle, and they come in lots of different materials, but I like this one for its weight and balance. Reminds me of times my brother and I used to play tetherball out in the yard.”

  He rubbed the paddle against my upturned cheeks and I sighed into the soft feeling of smooth, cold wood sliding over my warmed skin.

  “That’s it, let your body experience the paddle.” He circled my ass several times, and I was lulled into a reverie. Suddenly, he lifted the paddle and landed it straight over the crease where my cheeks met. The unexpected thump was nothing like the delicate, precise bites of the crop. This reverberated through my skin, making me feel deeply humiliated and completely owned at the same time.

  I wasn’t so sure that I liked this one.

  “How does that feel?” he asked.

  “Green... I think, sir.” Was it? Something about the feel of the paddle had reached inside and unsettled me.

  “You think?”

  “I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s not too painful, but I still don’t like it.”

  He didn’t reply immediately.

  “You’re going to take ten for me,” he said. I heard what he’d said but for some reason my brain changed the emphasis. For me. I didn’t want to experience three more of these, never mind ten, but he had demanded I take them for him, and the ordeal became less unpleasant. I would suffer for his pleasure, and somehow that made it more bearable.

  The paddle slammed into the same spot as before. Pain burned across the surface of my skin and I gritted my teeth. Although it hadn’t been hit, my ass hole pulsed in an unfamiliar way that I hated. It felt intrusive and made me shudder.

  His hand touched my bottom. The gentle sensation of his palm cupping my skin reassured me. Then, that connection was gone and the paddle landed again, twice in quick succession. I balled my fists against the onslaught, as he switched to caressing my ass with the cold surface of the paddle. It felt so good when he used it like that, but I hated when he spanked me with it.

  “That’s three,” he said. His voice had taken on a strange tone; I was usually good at naming and mentally remembering inflections so I could use them to act out characters. The word I’d use to describe his voice was reverence, which surprised me. It didn’t fit with my idea of the hard-assed rough cowboy demanding obedience from his woman. Why would this situation inspire him to react like that?

  I had no more time to think about it before the paddle landed again, three times, this time, thudding viciously into my ass and making the sensation of being violated build until I was shaking my head in distress.

  “Orange,” I called out, not sure if this counted as the right time to safeword or not, but needing to stop feeling like this.

  Immediately, Clay was in front of me. He crouched down until he could see my face.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” I replied.

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “The paddle... it just got at me, and I didn’t want to let you down.”

  “Was it too hard?”

  “No. It just...” I struggled to think of the right way to explain it. “It ate at me. Inside. It felt like it was attacking inside my ass. I don’t know how that’s possible but it made me feel dirty.”

  “It’s your sit-spot,” he said. “The area around the cleft where your ass cheeks meet. When the paddle catches it dead-center, it creates a sort of ripple effect which is probably what unsettled you.”

  “It felt wrong and forbidden.”

  “Do you want to continue with this session?” he asked, and I heard no coercion or emotional blackmail in his tone, only concern for my welfare.

  I thought for a moment. There could be other things that bothered me, other pervasive feelings that were hard to shake. But there might be things that were more like the riding crop. And the lure of that delicate tingle overrode my dislike of the paddle.

  “Yes, sir,” I replied eventually. “I want to continue, sir.”

  “I’m going to use the paddle in a different way; you still have four swats left before we move on to something else. You have your safewords.”

  “Yes, sir.” My voice wavered a little as I steeled myself in case the paddle felt the same as before. I’d hoped he would just abandon the paddle and do something different, but I knew I had no say in what he did. Honestly, although the prospect of more paddling scared me, it also sent a tingle of need through my core as I understood that he was in control and I couldn’t change his plans.

  He brought the paddle down on the crest of my left cheek, and the dull ache bit deep into my flesh but it didn’t make my rear opening feel violated, this time. When he did the same on the right side, I was less apprehensive. This paddle covered a big area when it landed, and the thud of its surface slapping into my rear still felt different to the sharp dots of pain the riding crop had caused.

  “Two more.”

  I could take this. At least, that’s what I thought before the penultimate swat landed on my left cheek. It was harder than before, and I squeaked when the solid wood connected with my skin. I breathed heavily for a few seconds as the pain demanded my full attention. It ate at me, not seeming to fade as quickly as before, and it was still sore when he did the same on the other side. My air came out in a long uhhh and the burn lingered.

  His hands tousled my hair, igniting delicate pinpricks across my scalp that contrasted with the deep ache in my ass.

  “Good girl. You did really well. How are you feeling, now?”

  “Greener than before, sir.”

  “Excellent. I’m going to move on to my belt, next.” As he stood before me, he unbuckled his thick brown leather belt and I swooned a little. The pain of the paddle still resounded in my ass but it wasn’t important. My mouth watered and my body went even more limp, supported entirely by the spanking bench. Watching him pull that belt out of his denim loops was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen in my life.

  “There’s two ways to use a belt,” he said, taking the buckle in his fist and wrapping a couple of turns of leather around his hand. “I can either use it in a straight line, like a single-tailed tawse, or I can fold it in half and catch you with the crest of the loop. But the buckle always goes in my hand.”

  He walked around behind me and my already-warmed bottom craved his touch. He put the flat of his hand on the base of my spine and I knew he wasn’t going to delay.

  The leather exploded across both my cheeks in a fat line that immediately burned across the surface with an intense flame that was much hotter than anything he’d done today. I cried out and my thighs quivered as my body tried to reflexively move away from being a target.

  “And this is how it feels when I fold the belt over.” The belt slammed into me with more weight behind it. The crack was louder when it connected. Every nerve in my body lit up in sympathy with the fierce pain tearing through my delicate ass. I gasped for breath and my eyes began to water.

  “You’re going to take three of the belt, while it’s folded like this.”

  I whimpered at the idea of three more strokes. I was still shaking my ass and trying to get rid of the burn from the first one.

  “How do you feel?” he asked suddenly, as though he sensed my apprehension.

  “Scared. That hurts a lot, sir,” I confessed.

  “Take it for
me, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “I promise the reward will be sweeter.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He brought it down in a slightly lower spot and I shrieked as the thick leather slammed into a much more sensitive area. It burned! It burned so bad! All I could think about was how much it burned. I strained at the ropes as my body tried to move of its own accord, but I was completely bound and helpless. There was nothing I could do but accept whatever he wanted to give me.

  The next time, he caught the same place where he’d landed the belt with the first stroke. Pain on top of pain made me shriek again, while inside me, something very strange started to happen. My pussy ached for release and my whole body hummed with satisfaction, like nothing I’d ever known before.

  The final stroke of the belt was as hard as the others, making me cry out as the immediate, impossible agony exploded through my nerves and overwhelmed my senses. I shook and my arms yanked at the ropes while my ass burned ferociously.

  A fat droplet of thick liquid emerged from my pussy. It traveled straight to the leather of the bench before sliding over the edge and landing on the floor with a slightly audible splatter that made my face burn with shame.

  “What did you find most arousing?” His voice was like a sensual lullaby, drawing me deeper into a reverie. I wanted to deny how I felt; wanted to protest that I wasn’t aroused by this, but the evidence was literally pouring out of me.

  “The belt.” The words stuck in my throat and were hard to say. When I heard my own voice confessing my depravity, a flush of heat scurried across my face.

  “It left red lines across your ass that still feel hot to touch,” he told me. The mental image made my pussy pulse again. He trailed his fingers over my skin, igniting a glowing warmth that radiated through my body.

  “Please...” I murmured, completely failing to control myself anymore or wait to see where this was going. The tension was too much and I needed him to fuck me.