Through dumb luck we found ourselves kidless at home this evening. A rare occurrence. I, of course, was hoping we’d squeeze a little action in and I was not disappointed. In fact, it’s entirely possible I’m writing this in the gap in the action. The first act, in which Thumper got his ass thoroughly whipped, is over. Act two, if it happens, would be all about Mistress Belle Fille.

It started out with us watching an episode of Mad Men downstairs while she worked out on the ellipse (yes, that’s the big evening without kids – catching up on our stories like a couple of old ladies). The intention was to continue watching more episodes upstairs after her shower, but somehow it never happened and before you know it I was all naked and subby on the bed next to her.

“Get the flogger.”

Gasp! She’s gonna beat me! Sweet!

I got the little rubber flogger and handed it to her and naturally assumed a very submissive posture. Ass in the air, head down on the sheets, she said, “Stay just like that. I’ll be back…”

I stayed as directed. My knees were apart, so my ass was spread with the sack hanging freely from between. I enjoyed being in the classic position of one dominated, enjoyed that I was like that at her command, enjoyed the feeling of the breeze blowing through the window moving around her cock and balls. I felt very calm and at peace.

She reentered the room and sat down on the bed behind me. I had no idea what she left the room for as I assumed I was about to be hit with the flogger and couldn’t imagine what she needed from elsewhere. Then, I felt a cold cream being applied to my scrotum. And then I smelled it. Icy Hot. Lots of it.

Jesus. H. Christ.

I whimpered in anticipation of the pain about to come. It always goes on cool and soothing. Then the fire starts. And this time, she followed the package directions and “applied liberally”, so the fire started hot and just got hotter. While I was writhing on the bed, nuclear fusion taking place between my legs, she started to flog my upraised ass.

Truth is, the Icy Hot hurt so bad, the flogging was almost incidental. Waves of burning heat crashed into my scrotum, receded slightly, only to crest higher the next time. Sweat broke out all over my body. I bit hard into the blanket. Realizing we were alone, I got vocal. I screamed. My eyes watered. It hurt so bad. And all the while, she was flogging my ass.

Eventually, the Icy Hot started to wane. She got up again and came back in with a wet washcloth. I think (it’s hard to remember, even though it just happened) I grabbed the cold, wet cloth from her and pressed it against my nuts. It was like pouring gasoline on a fire.

“What the fuck is on here?!” I yelled as the renewed burning intensified.

“Just water,” she replied, laughing.

Remember, kids, a wet washcloth actually makes Icy Hot hurt more, even when you think it’s almost run its course. Do not try this at home.

Eventually, it did run its course and settled into the cold afterburn stage. All the while this was going on, she was still flogging my ass. Running the rubber tendrils down my back, across my ass cheeks, between my ass cheeks (where, it’s worth noting, she also got some Icy Hot), then fwap! Again and again. Raining down a half dozen or more blows at a time, alternating between cheeks and my upper thighs.

After a little bit, the pain stopped being so harsh and shocking. It turned the corner into something else. It’s hard to describe since it hurt just as bad, but I stopped crying out with each blow and started sighing and moaning and sometimes not making any sound at all. It started to feel warm and almost comforting. Instead of flinching and leaning away from her blows, I started to edge closer, moving my ass higher to meet them sooner. Everything I wanted, everything I was, all I’d ever be, at that moment, was the sweet pain. I wanted it to go on and on. I never wanted it to stop. It was just. So. Wonderful.

Then it was over. She had a light sheen of sweat over her (it’s rather warm today) and had had enough. I could have kept going indefinitely. Regardless, I laid across her legs, still on my knees, and hugged close to her thighs and just basked. Angry red and purple streaks were raised on my rosy cheeks while the most contented afterglow radiated within me. This is something else I can’t describe. It’s like a post-orgasmic glow, but different. All I wanted to do was stay like that, hugging her legs, moaning little moans with my eyes closed, thanking her, telling her I loved her. Rapture. Pure rapture.

I can still feel the stinging as I sit here and type. I want it back, that feeling. I want her to hit me some more. Hard and fast, like before.

Only this time, no Icy Hot, please.

3 Replies to “Afterburn”

  1. I love that feeling, where you want them to keep hitting and hitting you. I’ve been there and it’s wonderful.

    And that hard-to-describe thing like afterglow? That is called “headspace,” my dear. Not that you didn’t know that.

    Sounds wonderful all over. Yay!

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