V is for View

My view changes a few times. I first bent over Nick’s knees with my hands on the floor and my head hanging low. I didn’t get to study all the intricate details of the antique Tabriz rug underneath the blue velvet bench, as I didn’t enjoy seeing it so up close. You see, while it’s considered as one of the most popular spanking positions, I must disagree. I get woozy; I start seeing stars, not from the spanking, but from the blood rushing to my head. Not sure if it’s physical or psychological, but I panic in this position, almost right away. 

The cowbell to the rescue; after a brief mumble and a change of position, Nick profusely apologized for my discomfort, then propped my torso on the bed while my bottom remained at his disposal. At first, I twisted my head to the right and saw the edge of the same blue velvet bench, together with Nick’s clothes and my see-through blouse scattered on the floor. But Nick was unhappy with not seeing my face. Why would anyone wish to see the spankee’s face expression? A tough dilemma for most spankers, but not for unpredictable McDreamson. I see his point: it’s not a punishment but a grand finale, with a possible visit to Fairyland. He worked so hard to get me there; he wants to share it with me. Nick didn’t say any of it. He turned my head to the left, so I would face him, and gave me a forehead kiss. 

Even in a dream, Nick smells good, a mixture of his morning aftershave and his own smell. My view is graciously PG-rated, with Nick’s nakedness safely hidden underneath me, but the distinctive smell hits my nostrils every time Nick shifts. And I can still taste him on my tongue. I lick my lips and grin, and Nick returns a knowing smile. One interruption leads to another. My fingers graze the short curly hair on his belly, forgetting why I am seeing them at this peculiar angle, with my head pressed against soft white sheets. I bet Nick’s view is even better, seeing all the pretty marks from our never-ending night’s adventures. He circles my bottom and my thighs with his warm hand, the strop nowhere to be seen or felt. Nick leans over to press his lips against my neck, while his fingers unceremoniously plunge inside me to the tilt. He brings his fingers back to my lips to lick him clean, adding my own smell and taste to the delicious mix. 

“Ladies first?” are Nick’s first words since forever.

Startled, I muffle a single uh-huh into the sheets. Did Nick forget that I already came once, in the dungeon on stage, under the taps of the riding crops, guided only by his voice? He narrated every squirm of my swollen pink lips, every roll of my hips, every drop, every squirt. It seems now like eon years and thousands of miles away, but pussy never lies: I can still feel it. Which doesn’t mean I will turn down another!

I quickly add, “Yes, please.” In case he didn’t hear my uh-huh.

“New rules,” Nick announces, while he falls on the side and settles, propped on his elbow. He boops the tip of my nose with a wet finger that smells like me. “You are not allowed to close your eyes. You will see this mug,” he points at his handsome face, “as you come.”

“What a view to come to!” I quip terrified, because I cannot keep my eyes open when I come, and I am about to find out what the consequences of disobeying his orders might be.