I led Pink through the kitchen, the living room and up the stairs to my bedroom where I had set up the crash pad. I had him strip down to his socks, blindfolded him and had him get on all fours on the large cushion. I turned on some soft music and lit some incense. I grabbed my riding crop from where I had it handing on the wall and I straddled him. He was such a large man that my feet barely reached the ground. He made a lovely perch.
"How many did I say?" I asked this, tapping the crop into the palm of my hand.
"And how many is four?"
I leaned my face close to his ear. "Forty what?"
"F-forty lashes, Mistress."
"Yessss," I hissed, flipping around on my seat so that I was facing his ass. "And you're going to count." I thwapped his ass with the crop. He gasped and quivered. "Let's try that again. You will count and thank me for each hit." I hit him with the crop and he howled.
"Yellow, Mistress, yellow!"
"Not that. Please, it hurts so bad."
"Okay," I tossed the crop onto the floor. "You have to start counting."
"Yes M-mistress." His stuttering was adorable. I smacked a cheek with my hand.
"Onethankyoumistress," he choked. I hit him again and again and his responses were just as blurred together, but he never lost the thank you mistress. At about the "20thankyoumistress", his whole body was quivering. I paused and rubbed his ass. Climbing off his back, I leaned over him and saw that he was crying.
"You okay?" I whipped his cheeks with a tissue. He nodded, biting his lip. "Do you want me to stop?" He nodded once, then shook his head vigorously. Placing my fingers under his chin, I raised his head and looked into his eyes. "Are you sure?" He nodded. "Well, you should know, it's gonna get worse. That was just the warm-up." I dropped his chin, grabbed my wooden hairbrush off my desk and straddled him again.
I aimed for spots around the glowing red section of his ass, but even so, every time my brush hit him, he jumped. He still counted each smack with a quavering voice. At 33 he was sobbing so hard I had to stand to deliver the last seven puddlings. As soon as he said, "fortythankyoumistress," he collapsed.
I set the brush aside, grabbed the lotion off my bedside table and massaged it into his burning ass. He was still crying and shaking, but much softer now.
"Did you like that at all?"
He shook his head. "No, Mistress."
Rubbing the last bit of lotion into his skin, I murmured, "We'll do something you do enjoy next. Okay?"
He sighed and relaxed into the crash pad. "Yes Mistress."
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