Don’t be gentle with me

This was Sarah‘s prompt for me. I asked her to send me a picture to launch me on the prompt. She sent this, of her (spectacular, round, meaty, delicious) ass:

You can’t see it, because panties. But that ass is bruised. The photo was taken about six days after I bruised it. But the bruises – fading, to be sure – remain.

I’m not, generally, rough. I’m a “sensual dom.” Not sadistic. Not humiliating. Not degrading.

But both Charlotte and Sarah have – in their own ways – put me in touch with my aggression. My relationships with them are very different. They are very different. But each has managed to enrage me. And each has managed to earn bruises on her ass at a level that is atypical for me.

Soon, their asses will be before me, once again. They will be bent over, skirts lifted high, hands pressed against a wall. And I will be delivering my aggression, manually, upon their sweet, round, full, asses.

One of them will say “orange” first. “Orange,” in this context, will mean “I need a break.” I will grant each utterance of “orange” a five-minute break.

One of them will say “red” first. “Red,” in this context, will mean, “Please stop bruising my pretty ass! I’m done!”

I think I know who will say it first. Perhaps you know, having read up to here. More likely, not. But I know.

The truth is, I don’t care. I will delight in letting my rage flow through my arm, through my and, into their flesh.

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