I want you to use your imagination: but let's begin by relaxing. Think calm - cool colours, soothing noise - perhaps the quiet hiss of waves on a deserted beach or the sigh of a warm evening breeze through the leaves. It's warm. Not hot, just a comforting, enveloping warmth.
You're so relaxed your mind can let go, drift where it will. Let it drift to a room, a light, airy room: decorated in your favourite colour, uncluttered, warm sun spilling in, lighting warm patches on the big, soft bed.
It's so good in the sun: you can sprawl on the soft covers, naked, basking in the gentle heat.
There's someone with you: someone welcome: you feel secure: more complete for sharing this idyllic moment - do you feel their touch? How would you like that touch to feel - imagine the texture of the skin, the weight of the hand on you.
The hand is gently pulling at you: sliding you across the covers to draw you together, close: you can smell their distinctive scent. The faintest scent can cross decades and bridge the oceans. You have that scent now: you are close together.
Your bodies are twined together - you held close, secure, still sprawled in the soft comfort of the bedding, feeling where your naked skin touches: they sitting, looking down on you, stroking and caressing. Feel the hand running down your back, cresting the curve of your humped up rear, touching you softly where it gives you pleasure.
You're moving slowly to the rhythm of the touch, adding you own impetus, drawing the touch deeper, stronger. The movement, the feeling, is spreading in slow ripples outwards: breathe deeply: let the heat, the thirst for that touch suffuse through you until each cell sparkls with its charge.
The need for that touch is strong: can you replace it with your own movement pressing, pressing hard against the lap over which you lie? Feel it under you, feel the rhythm as you squeeze against it.
You know what's going to happen now, don't you? You've known it all along: held it in the darker corners of your mind. There was a time you were afraid to let it into the light, so you hid it, your dark and guilty secret. But that time has passed: it's time to be in the light, the warmth: you are not afraid any more.
That hand is now poised in the air: you have a second of anticipation before it comes to come. Feel the sharpness, the stinging, the rolling wave of heat that blossoms out, the gentle rubbing to precedes the next stinging slap.
Feel each one, steady firm, remorselessly continuing. Feel the steadily increasing sensitivity of your skin. It's a confusing sensation: each one painful but bearable as the sharp sting of the slap subsides. But you know each one is slower to fade: as one rolls into another you're beginning to hurt, beginning to wish it would stop.
Are you in two minds now? We all want our pain to stop, but a deeper part of you knows it's not yet time to end it. What are you doing now? Are you asking for it stop or are you accepting it in silence? There's a small tear trickling down your cheek: what is it washing away?
It's not going to stop: you can feel the burning all over. You know how it feels, each nerve end jangling, each charged to fire a small electric scream of pain. Picture your tears flowing freely: you need, you want, you deserve this. Have you reached that point now, surrendered to it? That's your reward: the giving up the struggle: the acceptance of your lot. Your tears wash away the burden of the world's expectations of you and you are freed.
How you must be loved, to be given such a gift.
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