The subsequent blows were less fierce—I still feared marking her, but less so with each smack of the leather against the lovely ass she bared for me. This was more than I could have ever imagined—the way I craved that bounty of perfect flesh and craved the act of marring the pristine surface, making it red, making it hurt, making her barely able to contain her cries. The emotion in me welled. I wondered if I could stop myself.
I could tell she was hurting, that she strained to hold on and not collapse before me. At the same time, there was some peaceful part of her that truly needed this punishment. Even when I feared I was hurting her too much, instinct told me that she loved the pain. It punished her; it made all things right.
Painslut. That was what Harry called his wife. It didn’t t
