Belted

That sound. That terrifying, wonderful sound. His belt slowly brushing against the denim as he pulls it free of the loops. I know that sound. It makes me shiver with dread and moisten with anticipation. My mouth goes dry and my nipples harden. I know what is coming and I welcome it as much as I fear it. I could beg but it would do no good. I could cry but he would know they were not true tears this soon. I could say "Redlight" and he would stop, but we both know I will not say that - at least not yet. 

I have committed no grievous error. I have not spoken rudely. I have not broken a rule. This is not for a correction. This is for pleasure. His, yes, but I cannot deny it is for mine as well. I stand and face him, watching wide eyed and keep silent. He will tell me what he wants. He may want me on the bed, lying still under my own willpower. He may test my ability to endure. This prospect is truly fearful since if I fail - if I turn over or try to protect my bottom with my hands - He will find some other way to punish me. Once, after the spanking, he rubbed a very light coating of capsan on my skin. I burned and cried for hours.

Perhaps he will tie my hands so that I cannot protect myself. Oh, I could still dance away - or at least attempt to, but he enjoys this. He laughs. He is very, very good and placing his belt exactly where he wants it; how hard he wants it - where and how I will feel it most but receive no lasting damage. If I turn around, he will belt the tops of my thighs - or worse, my breasts. ARE YOU READY? he asks. I gulp and nod. He frowns and I quickly answer: Yes. DO YOU WANT THIS? he asks. I answer: Oh yes, please, I do.

I never lie to him.