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Subject: "Turning on the Light" (M/F, spanking, sex)
From: bookbabe@bigfoot.com (Michele )
Date: 28 Sep 1998 09:13:59 -0700

Turning on the Light

copyright Michele 1997.

Tonight, like every other night, I put on my robe in the bathroom before entering our bedroom, making sure it's securely tied. You're propped up in bed, naked to the waist, reading a book beneath the soft glow of the light from the night table lamp. A smile crosses your face as I approach.

Sitting on the side of the bed I slip the robe from my shoulders, my back to you. A familiar night time ritual. Quickly I ease under the covers, offering you only a fleeting glimpse of bare skin before I am covered by the sheets and quilt. Making sure the bedcovers are pulled up to my shoulders, I burrow into your chest, nuzzling my face into the warmth and hairiness that I so love, my hand sliding down your torso until I find your cock, flaccid but stirring against my eager touch.

As you turn toward me, taking me into your arms, I whisper, "turn off the light." Another bedtime ritual. I've grown to enjoy the safety and security of the darkness and what it hides. My widening hips. The folds of my belly. Fat arms. But tonight you refuse. Threading your hands through my hair you kiss me deeply, slowly, then pull away. "No. The light stays on tonight, honey."

You kiss me again, throwing one leg across mine, so that I'm pinned to the mattress. As the kiss lengthens and grows in intensity, I feel you begin to ease the sheets off my body, and the cool night air chills me. "Please," I protest, grappling with the sheets, trying to cover myself. "Please, turn off the lights." My throat has grown tight with embarassment.

"No." Your voice is kind, although adamant, but I'm unable to hear what the kindness and desire in your voice are telling me.

You resume kissing me, your tongue insistent in my mouth, your fingers playing with my nipples. Closing my eyes I give into the pleasure surging through me as your hands and mouth excite my body. Momentarily I forget that I'm trapped in this body that so often shames and angers me, and I lose myself in the love you offer so freely. But when you shift me on top of you, I'm overwhelmingly conscious of the spread of my thighs, the roundness of my belly, the wide expanse of my ass. You know how much I hate this position; surely I'm too heavy for you, my weight a burden. But you're insistent, and so is my cunt, always so greedy, and I reach between my straddling legs and ease your shaft into me, inch by inch, feeding my hunger, wishing that I could pull up the sheets so that I wasn't so exposed. I keep my eyes closed, unwilling to watch you watching me. What pleasure could there be in looking at my body?

At first I lean forward, bearing my weight on my hands, but you ease me upright, pushing gently on my shoulders, then clasping my hands.

"Stay like that," you urge. "You look glorious, riding me."

Glorious. I want to give into that word, luxuriate in it, but honestly, I don't believe you. I want to hide from you. Hide from myself.

So as you begin to thrust beneath me, your hands moving down to my hips, I reach for the cord of the lamp and flick off the light. And I am safe and hidden in the dark again.

With an impatient imprecation you thrust me off you, and push me face down onto the bed, one hand on my neck, one leg pinning mine.

"Are you going to turn on the light?" Your voice is very patient.

"No," I mutter.

You begin to spank me. Hard. Fast. Harder than you've ever spanked me. Without any warm up, without any preparation, your hand descends, again and again, implacable. There's no pleasure in this for me, only pain, and I hear myself yipping and yelping. I'm trying hard to escape you, but your hold is firm.

"Stop it! Stop spanking me!" My voice sounds high and thin, shamed and angry.

"Turn on the light and I'll stop spanking you." You sound so reasonable, as if your demand comes at no cost to me. Your breathing is measured and calm and I sense that there is no anger in you, only love and determination that I stop hiding from you. Stop feeling ashamed of my body.

"No, goddamit, I won't." I bury my face in the pillows and wail as you give special attention the swell of each cheek, your hand landing solidly.

"Okay," you sigh, and continue to belabour my ass, over and over, your hand remorselessly cracking against my backside, working steadily.

As much as I squirm, there's no escaping you. I try to keep breathing, to keep pace with the spanking, but I can't; there's no strength in me, and soon I'm hiccuping and sobbing, tears welling from my eyes. My face is red and swollen, the pillow wet with my sweat and tears. I feel so ugly right now, out of control. But I'm not yet ready to give in, and my sobs and the crack of your palm against my ass blend in some strange counterpoint in a room grown very still and hot. Otherwise the two of us are silent, intent on this battle of wills.

I fear I'm nearing some precipice, some point of no return; you've never spanked me so hard, with such disregard for my pleasure, and I feel angry. "You're such an asshole," I choke out. "Spanking me to punish me."

"I'm not punishing you, Michele. Just turn on the light. Reach for the switch on the cord and turn it on." Each word is punctuated with a stinging swat to my thighs, and soon the skin there feels like it's been scalded.

"No! Stop! You're hurting me!"

"Then safeword, Michele. Safeword or turn on the light. Those are the only ways to end this spanking."

But I can't use my safeword. I don't know why, but I don't want to. Somehow, doing so would be lying to you, an attempt to escape the reason you're spanking me, an attempt to evade my shame and your love. You've never tried to push me so hard to face you, or face myself.

So I take a deep breath and reach for the light switch on the cord. With my eyes still shut I flick it on, and immediately you stop spanking me, and ease your weight from the back of my legs.

With gentle hands you stroke my backside, massaging and rubbing away the pain, moving my asscheeks in a slow, sensuous motion.

"You know, Michele, I love your ass," you whisper. "It's so lush and soft, so wonderful to touch and stroke and spank."

Your hand cups the curve of one buttock. "I love its wide curve, its whiteness and smoothness, how your cheeks swell into my hands, how your bottom moves when I spank it. I love touching your ass. And spanking it." You bend down and plant soft, consoling kisses on each reddened cheek.

I begin to cry as you turn me over. "Open your eyes, sweetheart," you urge, and with a strangled moan I comply. I've never felt so naked before you, so vulnerable, but your eyes are full of kindness and passion and I have to smile at you through my tears.

"Christ, you're beautiful."

I shake my head in denial, but in my heart I want so much to believe you.

You reach for my hand and guide it to your cock, which thrusts rigidly from the nest of your pubic hair. "Doesn't this tell you how much I want you? How much I want to see you?"

Again I smile.

Gently you caress the swell of my belly. "This is beautiful. Your skin is so soft. There's so much . . . generosity to your body. I love lying beside you, love feeling you beneath me and atop me."

Your hands fall to my thighs, easing them apart, gently kneading the flesh that has spread against the sheets. "And I love the way your thighs cradle me and hold me, the muscles so strong beneath all this softness."

Drawing up my knees I pull you toward me, my hand reaching for your cock, and kneeling between my thighs you thrust home, burying yourself in my cunt. Your chest rubs against my breasts, the wiry hairs rough against my nipples. "So soft . . . so soft," you mutter, rocking against me, fucking me hard, staring intently at me.

And as my legs rise to wrap around your hips, I cry out in gladness, loving the way you love me. All of me.

Tonight, like every other night, I put on my robe in the bathroom before entering our bedroom. You're propped up in bed, naked to the waist, reading a book beneath the soft glow of the light from the night table lamp. You smile as I approach.

Staring into your eyes, smiling back at you, I slowly shuck the robe, feel the silk slither against my shoulders and back, cling momentarily to my hips, then fall in a soft puddle at my feet. My hands rise to cup my breasts, thumbs flicking the nipples.

"You look glorious," you sigh.

And I believe you.

* * *

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