Tears

Author: David Williams

She on her hands and knees, ass stuck up in the air, heavy breasts hanging down, her sweet face looking back at him. She had a pleading look that he understood. As inviting as her bare pussy was, as much as he wanted nothing more then to bury his cock deep in her and fuck the living shit out of her, he knew she needed more.

She wanted something very particular . . . no . . . that is wrong. She needed something. She needed to suffer for him. She needed to cry for him. In those tears she was washed free and clean. In those tears she was made new. She wanted to be new for him. She wanted to be made pure so he could defile her all over again.

As he pulled off his belt, she lay her head down on the bed and lifted her ass more. Part of her was afraid; the fear never stops. Part of her was excited, that part also never stopped. There was another part as well, one that was thankful that he knew what she needed. He knew, so she didn’t have to hint or beg or try and tell him. He just knew.

She wiggled her ass for a second, and he laughed. She was still looking back at him, sweet fawn- like eyes so innocent and hopeful. He caressed her ass, feeling it and preparing her.

He looped the belt around his hand, the buckle in his fist. He pulled on it each pass to make sure it was tight in his grasp. She watched him, trembling and yet strangely calm. As he did the last pass, he left about a foot of leather belt hanging down, then he looked at her, it was time.

She looked away. She never watched. It was like at the last instant she could not stand to imagine what was about to happen. She closed her eyes and forced herself to relax her ass cheeks. Her last image was of him standing there, pulling on the belt, hard as a rock, his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. That sight, that image was burned in her mind now.

He started soft, as he always did. Light pops that were loud, but really didn’t hurt. They scared her, the pop always catching her off guard. But she was a good girl, she didn’t try and move away, she was a good girl; she would take it and not move at all.

The first real pop was not that hard, but was at an angle, so it stung. She squealed a little and then pressed her face forward into the bed to keep from making more noise. The next pop was soon to follow and then another and another. They were getting progressively harder and harder; her ass was beginning to burn.

He worked both ass cheeks, switching when it was getting too intense on one cheek, and then back again when the second cheek got overloaded. As the strikes became harder, her ass didn’t recover as fas,t and soon the burn was consuming her wholly. She felt the strikes through her entire body, the sting making her ears burn and her breath come short. Still though, she said nothing, she was such a good girl.

Then the strikes were everywhere. She knew his rhythm was constant; it was time that went all weird on her. The popping sound of the leather hitting her seemed to linger and overlap with the next sound. The sounds piled on top of each other, as did the burn. It came in waves and washed over her. Finally she pushed up to her hands and knees, but still she did not say anything. She clenched her lips and closed her eyes and she was a good girl.

Then a strike, not unlike the other strikes in any way, the belt hit her only as hard as it had before, the sound was no louder. But this strike started it. She exhaled a huge gasp of breath and then her eyes opened without her wanting them too. She felt the tears starting, felt them dancing down her cheeks, and then she let out a huge sob.

He didn’t stop, nor would she have wanted him too. The bad was coming out; he kept smacking her ass to make it all get out. She cried out the bad, it was washed out in her tears. Each tear lifted her a little more then the last. Each one carried away some bad with it.

She kept crying for him and he kept Spanking her, the belt lashing across her ass in a nice steady pace. She sobbed and moaned, but she did not move, she was frozen in place. The tears dripped onto the bed and wet the sheets, they coated her face, they stung her eyes. But they did not stop.

Again and again he spanked her, and again and again she sobbed and wept for him. Then she felt it, all the bad was gone and a pure tear fell, one with no bad in it. She cried in joy, so free, so pure for him. She let her chest and face lower to the bed and wept freely. She felt his arms around her, his body pressing against her.

She pushed against him, rubbed herself on him; the touch of him was so magical. She felt his love, his pride in her. He whispered such sweet things to her, told her she was a good girl, such a good girl. She was a good girl, she did it for him. She suffered for him. She wept for him. He understood that. He was proud of that.

They were not tears, they were bits of her soul. She gave them to him one by one and a flood at a time. She gave him her soul in her tears, and he knew that. He kissed her. She was such a good girl. She made him happy. She wept for him. She was pure again.