There is a place between exhaustion and sleep where you’re not yet dreaming, but aren’t entirely lucid, either. I went to that place last night, and all I could think about was hand-spanking.
Lying over a lap, knees pressing into my stomach, my fingers brushing the carpet, my toes off the floor.
A cool breeze against my exposed cheeks.
The feeling of skin against skin. Rubbing first, then landing with a slap, stinging and warmth spreading. And more, and more, and again.
Ah, hand-spanking. I’m so hungry for it right now; my frustration is enormous.
But luckily I’m seeing Abel on Friday.
There are times I would like to get a hand spanking, but to be any good for me, it would have to last a decent amount of time. The problem is, G.’s hand blows up like a balloon if he spanks with his hand for a while, so we always use implements. I saw it happen when he spanked somebody else, and I couldn’t believe what his hand looked like afterward!
I’m the lucky one