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silvermuse 53F
202 posts
4/28/2015 10:03 am
His Hands


He reached out, brushing her hair back from her face as he looked down on her. It was their routine every night, he'd put her to bed before completing his own final tasks for the night, and it was one she had come to love. No, it went beyond love, she needed it, craved it, and in those rare times when their small ritual had slipped through the cracks, she found herself unable to sleep well.

"Hard or soft, my slave?" His voice deep, a low, pleasant growl that triggered a shiver through her body.

She wanted to say hard, needed to, but her body had betrayed her of late and had become her enemy. They weren't young, and her body, there were issues that occasionally raised their head, turning her joints, muscles, even her bones against her. Today had been one of those days.

"Soft, please Master." Hard, she wanted hard, but she knew better that to ask for something that would displease him. Masochist she may well be, but not in moments like this.

He nodded and stroked one hand down from her hair, along the length of her spine until he reached the curves of her backside. Without a word he flipped up the end of the short night shirt, baring her buttocks and rested his hand on one, waiting.

She tensed and then forced herself to relax. She didn't fear what would come, no matter how hard or soft the blows, yet she was human and still reacted to the anticipation of the strikes.

He lifted his hand and she breathed, refusing to let the tension reclaim her body. This wasn't for punishment, or play, it was simply a part of who they were.

The first blow landed with a light crack and she gasped. Her hip protested for a moment until the pleasure of being his rippled through, swallowing up the unwanted pain. She blinked, focusing on him as the second strike connected, a brief moment of pain followed by warmth, acceptance and understanding. Her eyes closed before the third blow and, despite the betrayal of her body, her hips jerked, a soft need, a knowledge that she was his now and always. At the fourth, her thighs tightened, hands clenching into the pillow she held, a low whimper slipping from her lips.

One more. Just one more. She wanted to go back to the beginning and repeat it, be able to come into this from the very start. But one more and it would be over.

The final strike landed, harder than the ones before, a louder crack that tore a gasp from her and she turned, looking at him, wondering. Soft, she'd said soft, and yet that had been hard. Her buttock hurt, stinging from the blow, pain rippling into heat as it spread across her skin and into the flesh beneath. He smoothed his hand over the stinging imprint, then rubbed, kneading the pain away until she closed her eyes and sighed.

A second hand joined the first, rubbing over both buttocks now until she relaxed. The strength and care in his hands, those scarred, weather worn hands, was something no one else would ever be able to offer her.

He stopped, flipping the edge of her night shirt down before he tugged the blankets over her body, tucking her in and for a moment she could still feel his touch on her backside. Then it was gone, his fingers brushing her cheek for a moment before he leaned down, pressing a light kiss to her lips.

"Get some sleep, I'll be to bed soon."

With that, he was gone, off to the bathroom to finish off his own routine, and she curled into the pillow a little more – knowing she would carry the touch of his hands with her into her dreams.


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