He’s striking my bottom with His belt, the viscious slap of the heavy leather meeting soft, yielding flesh echoes around the room as He marks a rhythm, and my skin, with metronomic regularity. Each hit elicits from me a vocal response, sometimes profane, sometimes animalistic, occasionally a whimper is all I can manage as I work to process the pain.

He hits me, harder this time, a rapturous stinging collision between leather and buttock, and I instinctively move away.

I shake my head.
He simply responds by saying ‘yes’.

He warns me to return to my previous position of lying procumbent on the bed.
I do not move, but remain in the position to which I have strayed.

He begins a countdown, stern and steadfast in his insistence on my compliance.
I know better than to disobey, and I willingly offer, once again, my body for Him to do as He will.

He kneels briefly by my side, acknowledging my acquiescence by tenderly kissing my forehead.
Our gaze locks momentarily, the gentle nature of the kiss matching the look in His eyes, and He whispers ‘Good girl’

As He moves to return to his own position once again standing over me, I reach out to Him for support, and our fingers entwine.
The beauty of the moment is not lost on me, and tears are not far away.
We hold onto each other, then, as he resumes His ministrations upon my self, and His belt once more falls.

Again.
And again.
And again.