At thirty, Tara is an accomplished woman. Head of the Key Accounts department of a famous investment bank, she owes her success and rapid rise within the company to her intelligence and ability to deal with any situation with composure.
The envious would say that it was above all her physique that enabled her to succeed so quickly. A former top-level volleyball player, her slender body is beautifully sculpted by hours and hours of assiduous training.
She never hesitates to wear high heels and short skirts to show off her long, perfectly curved legs. Her blouses are always wide open, revealing her high, firm breasts with their luscious roundness.
The alabaster complexion of her skin is enhanced by her long, flaming red hair. Amid the perfect oval of her face, her green eyes sparkle with life and intelligence. Her snub nose and the freckles dotting her prominent cheekbones give her a mischievous air.
Tara knows that her charms don’t leave men indifferent, or women for that matter. And she knows how to play them when she needs to. However, despite this advantageous plasticity, she knows that it’s her character that makes all the difference to her success.
It’s a character she’s forged over the years in a most original way, through a strict upbringing of punishment and corporal punishment. Every mistake, every breach of the house rules, was severely punished by both father and mother.
These numerous spankings hardened her and, when she left the family cocoon, she continued to follow this educational system. She first did this with her boyfriends at the time, but none of them were tough and dominant enough for her.
When she started to earn some money, she turned to professional dominators, but again, something was missing. The punishments were at the expected level, but there wasn’t the intimate relationship she was looking for.
Then one day, she came across him. Marc, a sports photographer she’d run into from time to time on the sidelines. They hit it off and it wasn’t long before she succumbed to the charms of this tall, dark and fiery-looking man.
And, unlike his other conquests, Marc has no hesitation in giving her a good spanking when necessary. On their third date, for some trivial reason, an ill-timed remark, Tara found herself across his knees, skirt rolled up, panties down below her knees. Her muscular buttocks, perfectly exposed, met her partner’s large, rough hands.
For several minutes, her bouncing buttocks endured the blows, quickly reddening under the powerful slaps. And when it all stopped, before she could react, a vigorous member violently entered her arousal-soaked intimacy.
This punishment and the torrid coupling that followed made Tara realize that Marc was the man for her. Since then, they’ve been happily married. Spankings are part of their married life, and Tara knows she’s never safe from punishment.
This moment of vulnerability, when she’s completely submissive to her husband, is what excites her most in the world. Whatever the pain, her only pleasure is to please him. There’s never a “no” in their games, nor any limit to their punishments. Tara’s submission is full and complete. It’s the only way she can achieve ecstasy.
***
It’s been a gruelling week for Tara. Numerous cases with complex issues demanded more attention than usual. Not once did she get home before 7 pm. Barely time for a chat with her husband, not even a full meal, and she disappeared into her office for several more hours of work.
Obviously, this week, she did nothing around the house. Leaving her husband entirely in charge of household and administrative tasks. And the few times they’ve talked, she hasn’t been very friendly. And there was no question of an intimate moment either. Too much work.
Not once did Marc make the slightest remark to her. He knows her perfectly well and knows how dedicated she is to her job. However, on Friday evening, when it’s almost 8 pm and she enters the house, she senses that something has changed.
The house is strangely silent. The lights are out, no one is home. Marc should be here by now. Tara leaves her coat and bag in the vestibule and walks into the living room.
The thick curtains are drawn, plunging the room into darkness. She flicks the light switch and freezes as the ceiling light illuminates the room.
On the large oak table, various instruments are neatly lined up: a wide leather belt, a polished wooden paddle and a riding crop. Just the sight of them sends a shiver of mixed anxiety and pleasure up her spine.
“All this is for you tonight,” announces a voice behind his back. “Get ready.”
The tone is calm, poised, without appeal.
Tara doesn’t turn around. Lowering her head and taking a deep breath, she begins to undress.
The ritual is always the same. It prepares her psychologically for what’s to come.
She starts by taking off her jacket, then unbuttoning her blouse, before undoing her skirt and letting it slide down her legs. Carefully folding the clothes, she places them on a chair.
Now wearing only her high heels and black silk underwear, she kneels facing the table. With her back straight, she crosses her ankles and spreads her thighs. Her hands come to rest, palms out, on her thighs. Finally, she bows her head in submission.
Her heartbeat quickens and her breathing quickens as she feels him approach behind her back.
His rough hands settle on her shoulders, caressing the nape of her neck, before taking hold of her hair. Tara holds her breath as her husband’s meticulous fingers intertwine her long locks. In seconds, the braid is completed.
The short time Marc took to do her hair indicated his mood. Tonight is not a game, it’s a punishment.
This simple realization makes her shiver with apprehension.
“In position.”
The order is curt.
Without hesitation, Tara rises and leans over the table. Her chest crushes the polished wood as she stretches her arms out in front of her to grip the other side of the table. Digging in her loins, squeezing her thighs, she offers her perfectly shaped buttocks to the blows to come.
Behind her, Marc gently runs his hand over her buttocks, flattering the bouncing globes, appreciating their firmness and satiny texture. Then his fingers reach under the black silk panties.
Tara swallows slowly as she feels her last bulwark slide down to her ankles. Now, her carefully waxed sex is fully exposed. She knows instinctively that his lips are bursting with excitement, their pink hue contrasting with her alabaster skin.
But she has no time to dwell on the situation. A flash of pain abruptly snaps her out of her reverie. The supple leather of the belt pinches her upper thighs, drawing a cry of surprise from her.
The blows rained down without interruption. Marc strikes methodically, working his way up and down her shapely thighs, carefully avoiding her buttocks for the moment.
Each hiss of the belt is followed by a resounding snap. Large red marks are made on the pale thighs.
Hands firmly gripping the edge of the table, Tara does her utmost to resist the pain shooting through her. Her breathing is ragged. The first tears begin to bead at the corners of her eyes, rolling down her cheeks onto the table. Her thighs are on fire as the belt falls relentlessly.
There’s no kindness, no mercy. This is punishment, not a game to turn her on. And yet, through this fog of pain, she feels a familiar warmth rising in the core of her belly, in the hollow of her loins.
Pain, pleasure, her mind is so confused by all her contradictory thoughts, she barely realizes that the rain of blows has stopped.
“I can’t believe it,” Marc sighs. “I’m punishing you and it’s turning you on!”
He rested the belt and grabbed another instrument of torment.
“We’re going to see how much you like being hurt,” he commented. “I want you to count every blow. And don’t make any mistakes, or I’ll start all over again.”
“Yes, Master,” replies Tara in a trembling voice.
The wood of the paddle slams down hard on her buttocks. The slam is dull, the pain excruciating. Tara feels her whole being vibrating under the impact. The shockwave spreads throughout her body, distributing the pain to her entire nervous system.
All her muscles trembled under the shock. Despite this, she holds on and begins to count, in a dull, hoarse voice.
Marc knows exactly what he’s doing. The paddle lands alternately on the right buttock, then the left, sometimes, both at the same time. The rhythm is irregular. One blow follows another, sometimes quickly, sometimes several seconds apart.
Tara has no chance of anticipating anything. This makes her totally helpless and vulnerable, she can only endure. And throughout this ordeal, she has to stay focused.
Despite the pain that assails her, the fire that seizes her buttocks and the first waves of pleasure that run up her spine, she must not lose track of the count of blows that stir her to the core.
Her brain, foggy with pain and pleasure, nearly betrays her several times, but she retains just enough lucidity to count right.
On the thirtieth stroke, the punishment stops.
Beads of perspiration cover her body. Pain and tension make her whole being trembling. Her face is bathed in tears. Her fingers are white from gripping the table too tightly. Despite this, she continues to dig in her loins and offer her rump to the rough hands that are now caressing her.
Marc’s fingers gently massage the firm, fleshy globes, momentarily soothing the pain.
Tara gradually regains her senses. Her breathing calms and she feels the waves of pleasure spreading through her.
“Your punishment isn’t over yet. The hardest part is yet to come!” warns Marc.
Helping her to her feet, he precisely unhooks her bra. Tara understands what lies ahead.
Stripped of her last garment, she is completely naked before her tormentor. Her round breasts heave to the rhythm of her breathing, and she feels her little pink nipples lengthen and harden with the excitement building inside her.
Marc needs no further instruction from her; Tara knows exactly what she has to do.
Standing perfectly upright, she spreads her legs wide, revealing her rosy-lipped sex. Then, crossing her hands at the nape of her neck, she tilts her head back, fully offering her taut chest and flat belly to her Master.
In this position, she is totally vulnerable, at the complete mercy of her tormentor.
Marc grabs the riding crop and begins to turn slowly around her.
Staring straight ahead, Tara concentrates on her breathing.
“Thirty,” Marc announces simply. “I’ll leave the counting to you.”
“Yes, Master.”
Tara holds her breath, her whole body tensing, preparing for the pain. She closes her eyes, all her senses on the alert.
The arm rises. The whistle of the whip tears the silence. Braided leather slams against flesh.
Tara suddenly raises her head, her whole body shaking nervously. She clenches her jaws to keep from screaming. She simply counts in an increasingly hoarse voice.
Marc cocks his arm again and strikes.
Relentlessly, the blows rain down on her buttocks, her thighs, her breasts, her stomach, her sex. The whip leaves long red marks on her alabaster skin.
Despite the pain that pierces her, Tara resists. A muffled groan escapes between her clenched teeth every time she utters a number.
Her face is a grimace of pain, and tears stream from her big green eyes.
“Three! Two!” she gasps, breathless, as the riding crop strikes her breasts in a vicious back-and-forth motion, leaving a red cross across her chest.
Marc smiles, giving her a few seconds to catch her breath but, above all, to let the pain penetrate her body and spread throughout her.
His dark eyes meet her emerald gaze. Through the river of tears, he can read Tara’s thoughts. On the one hand, her big green eyes beg him to stop and, at the same time, dare him to continue.
The final blow takes Tara completely by surprise. The braided leather clatters and hisses across her exposed sex.
Her mouth opens in a silent scream, her body curls up in pain, shaken by nervous spasms.
It takes all her remaining willpower to regain her position. Standing straight, legs spread, hands crossed behind her head, body offered to her master.
“One,” she finally utters, exhausted.
Throwing the riding crop to the ground, Marc grabbed her by the arm and turned her sharply around. In an instant, Tara’s chest is crushed again on the living room table. A knee pushes her thighs apart and, in the next second, a vigorous member thrusts into her burning intimacy.
Tara lets out a cry of surprise as the flesh monster brutally penetrates her. There’s not an ounce of tenderness from Marc. The coupling is rapid, savage, without the slightest gentleness. Marc’s loins thrust ever more violently, driving himself as deep as possible into her intimacy.
Despite the violence of the act, Tara tortures herself on the table with pleasure. Raucous moans escape from her throat. Waves of pleasure rise irresistibly inside her. An uncontrollable tidal wave threatens to overwhelm her.
Sensing this, Marc abruptly suspends his ravaging loins, leaving Tara on the verge of explosion.
“Not tonight,” he says simply. “It’s punishment. No pleasure for you tonight.”
He withdraws from her vagina and presents the glans of his excitedly swollen sex at the entrance to her anus.
This new sensation makes Tara shudder. It’s very rare for Marc to sodomize her, and she’s not used to him taking her like this, without preparing her first. A certain anguish grips her when she thinks of the size of the sex preparing to penetrate her.
Marc revels in the sudden fear that sends shivers through his wife’s body. With one firm hand, he forces Tara to dig a little deeper into his kidneys, and with the other, he directs his member towards the dark eyelet that opens up before him.
The ring of flesh slowly opens under the irresistible pressure of the monstrous glans. Muscles flex painfully as the penis forces its way in.
Tara screams. Her cries echo around the room, much to Marc’s delight, as he thrusts even deeper between her loins.
With a big grin, he slowly moves in and out, working the penis all the way up to the head, inflicting maximum pain on his mate, before driving it violently back into her bowels.
Tara’s screams shook the walls of the room. With consummate skill, Marc savagely ravages her, taking pleasure in making her martyrdom last.
But soon the pain subsides, and it’s pleasure again that surges through her. Even more violent than before. Tara impales herself on the penis, throwing her whole body against the huge shaft.
Marc notices the change in attitude and grabs the leather belt again.
As he continues to expertly plow Tara’s loins, he applies himself to flogging her. The leather slaps against the tender flesh of her buttocks and loins.
Despite this, Tara continues to propel herself to meet the blows. She can’t stop offering herself to the delicious suffering that makes her whole being vibrate.
Her brain is boiling, she can’t take it anymore. Her distended anus burns like hell. Her clitoris is so swollen with pleasure it’s painful, ready to explode. Her breasts rubbing on the table make her suffer.
And yet, despite all this, she feels nothing but joy. The pain is there, but the pleasure dominates. And then, suddenly, the explosion.
A mighty moan escapes Marc’s throat as the orgasm shakes his body. Tara’s excruciatingly dilated anus tightens spasmodically around the member spitting inside her.
He continues to ravage and whip her, until her member finally goes flaccid.
“You can join me in the bedroom when you’ve finished tidying up the living room,” he slips to her as he withdraws. “Good night, darling.”
And with those words, he leaves the room, leaving Tara panting and frustrated, lying across the living room table. Her torn anus leaks a river of semen that trickles down her thighs.
Tara is broken, exhausted, happy to have been punished and loving her man even more for this.