My First Time Administering A Damn Good Belting

“I won’t do that!” I said emphatically. “I can’t do it. You know I’m trained, even if it was years ago. You know I’ve done breaking practice. Safe, sane and consensual!”

“awwwwwww” they said over the phone. “What I want isn’t sane and is barely safe, but it is consensual. I don’t think it even makes sense. I just want the release that comes with someone beating me to a pulp.”

“And it won’t be me! I love your face. If I broke your nose, or knocked out a tooth, I’d never forgive myself.”

I don’t know if I was scared, angry or confused, but my blue-eyed, blue haired enby friend was insistent. “I want the emotional release that I used to get from being beaten to a pulp. I want someone to throw me around the room and belt the crap out of me.”

“Wait. What?”

“I said I want to be thrown around the room?”

“I can do that” I said softly. “I can certainly toss you around like a rag doll if you don’t resist, and I’m pretty sure I can toss you around if you try to evade me.”

“But the beating?”

“I can spank you, I think.”

“I don’t want a sexy spanking, well, not then anyway. I want to get hurt, a real belting.”

I shook my head. This was going somewhere I wasn’t sure I wanted to go. They started talking about the dumb shit their ex was doing, what their sisters were up to, and the new flat they had just moved into, but my mind kept getting drawn into BDSM. I did something I hated doing to people and half listened to them chatter about things that made them happy, while I googled flogging and found the safe places to do it on a female body. “…umm” I said hesitantly “…I think I might be able to do something…but…” My brain whirred. Tormenting someone tied to a bed with a flogger teasing their soft bits or dripping wax on their titties was something we’d talked about, but that was sensations, not sharp pain that left a mark and bruising for days. “You may not be the only one needing after-care” I continued. “I think if I got into that world, I might be hit in the face myself with ‘dom drop’ do they call it…”

Blue eyes sparkled with laughter. “There will be after care. There will be arnica for bruising and hot chocolate and cuddles under a fluffy blanket…” I started to say something, but they went on. “Yes, I’ll tell you if you’ve been a good boy.”

“I think there might be a huge emotional release from this side of the paddle” I said

More laughter. “There may be. Read up, please. I need this, and you make me feel safe.” They were serious now. “Tell me if you can’t do it, but please…I’ve been craving this release since last year. I just need to let go of the tensions and the…I don’t know…the stuff that’s been building up since I left that dumb bastard I was living with in Wodonga”

“So…we’d be naked” I started.

“NOT a sexy spanking!” The response was very quick and maybe a little too loudly

“I know that, but nonetheless…the sweat and the slipperiness makes a difference.” My dick started to harden a little.

“Not a sexy spanking” they said again, but a little quieter.

“There’ll be after care?”

“Mmmm…no fucking” My ‘sad face react’ must have been audible over the phone. “No fucking until I’ve stopped crying, and maybe not then. But cuddles. Lots of cuddles. Maybe fucking later.” I agreed with that.

I had enjoyed ground work when I studied judo, and the wondered of wrestling with a naked blue-haired imp with thick thighs and small titties kept popping into my thoughts as I read about floggers, paddles, crops, and where to strike. Memories of breaking boards in my 20’s made me wary of promising anything involving bare hand striking. I’d seen videos of girls getting punched in the belly in dungeons, but those strikes were very, very carefully controlled, limited striking distance blows, and I was terrified of making a mistake and seriously hurting my lover.

Finally I took myself down to the local sex shop and got some advice. I ended up with a foot-long leather paddle with the word ‘OUCH’ on one face, two hobble belts and the confidence to take my old well-worn leather belt along to the party. The woman serving had asked me about ‘sliding it though the belt loops’, and after a few goes it came naturally. The twink who was the other customer at the time tried to give me his number, which made the employee giggle at my embarrassment. I guess I was getting the hang, but I was by no means towering with confidence.

Well, the day came, and I rode down to my lover’s flat in Liverpool with my new toys in a gym bag strapped to the pillion seat. I?’d grabbed a few hand towels, Ros Moriarty’s ‘Colouring Country’ adult colouring book, pencils, some sweet nibbly things to go with coffee, so help me a packet of 50 Winfield Blue, and at the insistence of the staff at the sex shop (and the gay guy with the towering confidence, because if someone in their 50’s can look that good wearing a crop-top and skinny jeans i’m going to take their advice) a first aid kit and some wet-wipes. I’d never been so nervous about visiting my lover since the first time I met up with them, soon after they’d moved back to Sydney from country Victoria. We’d been lovers for more than 18 months, mostly long distance (gee, thanks, COVID) but when we could get together it was squirmy soft and kissing. This would be different.

I knocked.

I was greeted with a vision of loveliness wearing a yellow print frock that sat off-the-shoulder and really complimented their fair skin, and a smile that made my heart melt. I nearly threw the bag down and went home, but their eagerness to bring me in made me bolder.

“See – I’m wearing your favourite!”

“With nothing underneath it, as usual I suppose” They dimpled. It was very pretty. I put my bag on the kitchen table and unloaded the bounty within. “I’ve got some biscuits and things for coffee, and some arnica if you want to put that in the fridge for later.”

“Oooh – that looks good” I heard bustling in the kitchen, and the kettle being put on.

“Got you some fags, too. Thought you were giving up” They wrinkled their nose at me. The kettle boiled, coffee was made, and the packet opened. The sunlight coming through the back door to the kitchen almost outlined their body under the dress as they lit up, careful to keep the smoke outside the flat. I smiled at the sight, and when they noticed, they flipped a boob out the neckline of their frock at me. “Cheeky!” I said. I got a wink. “I’ll fix that later.”

“You wish!” they replied, drawing the smoke in gratefully. The damn things were hellish expensive these days, so a tailor-made was a treat. They finished their ciggie, and sat at the table with me, looking over the art book. It was based on Dreamtime images, and I watched my friend’s artistic mind mulling over the pencils they had in their collection, and the ones I’d picked up from the art supply shop that carried that author.

“So – I’ve been asking around, getting advice, trying to be a good dom”

“…and failing”

“Fuck you”

“I told you – not until I’ve been beaten to a pulp.” Their dimples really were adorable. No way was I gonna punch that face!

“Brat!” I had a tongue poked out at me. “Fucking safewords, orright!”

“What about ’em?”

“Traffic lights” I said. “I’ll check in all the time, because I’m a woos and I’m shit-scared of hurting you, OK?”

They nodded, serious now.

“Green means go, amber or orange means slow down, red means stop now.” I went on. “‘No’ doesn’t mean anything, neither does ‘yes’. OK so far?”

Another nod. The mood was getting darker, but that was alright. I was doing this for them, because they trusted me, and I wanted to do it right. Safe, sane, consensual.

“Upstairs.” I asked. “Is your third bedroom still empty?”

“Yep.”

“You said ‘no fucking’ until you’re happy to give permission?” A nod. “Good enough. But you know my body will react, don’t you.” Another nod. “Right. No flogging your pussy, nothing in your butthole or your vagina, no grabbing my scrotum. Please try not to hit my dick if I’ve got a hard-on.” Smiled at the last one, wide-eyed “No, no – I’ve had a broken penis once from, er, ~vigorous~, cowgirl activity and I never want another one!”

“Ohhhh” they said. wide-eyed. “Yeah, I can understand that. You really won’t hit my face?”

“Nope, sorry. That’s a hard limit for me. Unless we’re on the mat facing each other with a referee and corner judges, and even then it’ll be ‘control to the head'” They looked disappointed. “I can’t!” I pleaded.

“You know I’ve had lots of fights when I was in my teens.” It wasn’t a question.

“I know, and you were probably a very good scrapper. I’m going to do my best to make all your skill useless up there, but if you need to fight back hard, go for it. I’ve got confidence I can stop you hurting me, and if losing to a bigger, stronger opponent will give you the release you need without risking a broken nose or a busted lip, then I can do that.”

“Oh, all right” they finally said. “But you are going to throw me around?”

“Yes. Oh, yes” I grinned, and my expression brought the light of battle into their eyes. “Let’s go. I’ll bring the belts and stuff, you go get a blanket and leave it outside the door.” I followed them up the stairs. I was right about what was under the frock. A lovely round bottom is a nice thing to follow upstairs…shame about what I was gonna do to it shortly.

The room had good, heavy curtains, and I had noticed that the next-door neighbour was at work anyway when I came in. It was bare, but for a largish grey lounge chair that was pair to another one in the main bedroom and the settee in the living room downstairs. I draped the hobble belts over it and left the paddle on the seat. I looked at them standing there in that pretty frock I liked so much, barefoot and bare-arsed and braless, fidgeting a little under my gaze.

“Take of your dress and fold it away, please” I said.

“Why?”

“What was that?” It was on.

“You can’t tell me shit!” they replied, crossing their arms defiantly.

“I beg your pardon, young theybe!” I said sternly. “Take that damned frock off and fold it up. It’s your good dress and I won’t have it ruined by what is going to happen to you.”

“Make me!”

Ooooh…the standard response. “I’ll fucken make you, you imp!” I said angrily. “Take that dress off or you’re getting my belt across your arse and you’re counting the strokes.”

“I’ve got nothing underneath it so there!”

Quick as a flash I was across the short gap between us and with my hand on the back of their neck I bent them over the chair. One handed, I undid my belt to slide it through the belt loops with a menacing swishhhh. I flicked it across their calves, eliciting a yelp of surprise. Up to that point, I don’t think either of us believed I was capable of such an action.

“Pull your dress tight across your bottom and get ready to count to six!” I ordered.

“Dirty old man! You just want to see my bum!” came back the reply.

I answered with the end of the belt across their calves again, this time harder. Two, three times.

“You don’t talk to me like that, you little cum-dumpster” I hissed through clenched teeth. “I gave you the chance to save your modesty, now you’re getting the belt on your bare arse. If you don’t count loud enough, I’ll bend you over till your cunt pokes out and you get the leather on your flaps!” Some soft whimpering got rewarded with another flick on the calves ‘for your noise’. I wasn’t sure they were actually built like that, but I’d heard female friends talk about it happening in some positions, and the threat sounded menacing.

Hands shaking a bit, they pulled the hem of their dress over their bottom. “Stand over by that chair and get ready to count!” I ordered harshly. As they did as they were bid, I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt for dramatic effect. Her beautiful buttocks seemed to clench and quiver, but I wasn’t sure if fear or anticipation, or even mirth and mockery, were driving their actions. I doubled the belt in my hand, and let them have the first one.

They yelped with the shock of the blow, standing up and nearly reaching for their wounded buttocks, and very shakily counted “one”. The belt left a red mark on the white skin of that lovely round bum. I hoped it was hard enough to do what was needed, and not so hard I?d caused some real damage.

I bent them over the back of the chair again, and as I delivered the second stroke I said “If I can’t hear you counting, I’ll have to start again.” Their voice was louder now, but shaky with shock. The third time I gently but firmly pushed them back over the chair they stayed there. On the count of six, they were starting to weep a little.

Good.

“Take the dress off and fold it and put it outside the door” Even in my own ears, gentle commands backed up by a firm hand and a leather belt sounded more menacing that shouts and threats.

Gingerly, because of the flogging they’d just had, they did as they were told, kneeling to place the folded dress just outside the door to the room we were in. I knew from my research that warming up to strong sensations meant a good erotic outcome to someone into that kind of thing, but this wasn’t meant to do that. This was meaner, harder, reaching for a different part of the emotional space inside my lover.

While they were on their knees, I unbuttoned my own shirt and handed it to them. As they folded the shirt, I turned away so they couldn’t see my response to the welts starting to show from the third and fourth blows I’d given them. “Come” I said, beckoning them to stand and walk towards me.

I never tired of seeing them like this, naked, shaved pussy and pits, perky little conical boobs, small waist with full, generous hips, clear pale skin that almost glowed under some light. Oh, they were lovely, with blue, blue eyes that sparkled when they smiled.

I held out the belt and said “hang this neatly on the back of the chair, please.” I turned away and unbuttoned my jeans to take them off. Mistake.

The belt buckle hit me in the hip, hard. I turned around, furious at the unexpected blow, even though I had specifically told them I wanted them to fight hard, to make me exert all my force to overcome them. The belt swung for another strike, this time at my waist. I spun out to the way, nearly tripping over the chair as I did so, and threw it across the room. They stumbled backwards to avoid the flying furniture, which gave me time to decide whether to be naked or do my jeans up properly. I chose skin.

“What do you think is going to happen to you now, you little idiot? I’m going to flay your arse for you, that’s what!”

“Catch me first” they replied, flicking the heavy brass buckle at me. Another swing, aiming for my hip, serious power behind it. I sidestepped that, maintaining distance. This was serious, even though we’d agreed on safe words. They swung again, this time my evasion brought me closer to where my jeans were in a heap on the floor. I hooked the jeans with a foot and sent them flying towards my opponent, obscuring their vision while I closed. I managed to get a grip on the wrist holding that damned belt, and spun them into a hip throw, a really clumsy tsurikomi goshi.

Damn them! I nearly let go of the belt hand I was concentrating so hard on not ‘burying’ them head first into a hard carpeted floor! I followed them down and grappled with them for control of the belt. I knew they were a street fighter but the hellion had an incredibly strong grip! Where the fuck did that come from?

I could feel them punching me on the back with their free hand, and all I could think was thank Hestia they weren’t scratching me with that upper body power. I’d be shredded if I was a stranger trying this. The little imp was STRONG!

A fist came over my shoulder and connected with my cheek. I responded with an elbow that felt like it hit them between the tits. Fine. Another one got the pit of their stomach and knocked the wind out of them a bit, but regaining control of that damned belt was still no easy thing. I wasn’t gonna take another buckle to the hip bone.

I got it out of their hand by rolling over their arm and putting my feet against their chest so I could put my leg muscles into it. The position must have looked ridiculous, and I felt a thumb pushed against my arsehole. “Orange!” I growled. The thumb was quickly pulled away, but the punch to my inner thigh told me the owner of that thumb was still serious about the fight.

Fine.

I kept hold of their hand and started into a wrist lock. Oh, they squirmed over that! It was like a snake, until I got the opportunity to get my legs under their torso. Ha! Gotcha! It would be a jigoku jime or ‘Hell Strangle’ if we were on the mat, and game over, once I got their other arm locked between my legs. We were naked, though, with no judogi to wrap around that pretty pale neck, so instead I slapped the tit I could reach. “Bastard!” they snarled.

“Suck it, brat!” I growled in response, and slapped that tit again, with another swipe at their ribs with the back of my hand. You cannot get any decent power with someone’s right arm under one armpit, and your legs wrapped around the other arm, but I wasn’t aiming for damage. I wanted my opponent to tap out! “You listen to me, you cum dumpster! You will tap out. You will cry ‘ORANGE’ before you black out when I strangle you or I will get VERY angry!” It’s hard to sound threatening when you have someone laying on your naked dick, just as it’s hard to concentrate when someone with very appealing titties is squirming in your grip, and sweaty people are hard to keep a grip on. That’s why they got their right arm free of my grip and elbowed me hard, in the belly.

They rolled to get away from my reach and get their left arm out from my legs, but I followed close by and when I got the opportunity crashed into them, forcing them onto the carpet by pure overwhelming mass. “Now, it’s over!” I snarled.

The feel of sweaty flesh against me, the closeness of our bodies – God but I was hard! They were having none of it! As I lay on top of them, striving to control the flailing legs and their attempts to roll over, my erection pressed against that delicious arse. Those buttocks were clenched so hard it may as well have been solid! I gave a couple of quieteners into their short ribs to take their mind off me reaching under their chin to get my forearm into position for a blood strangle. That didn’t work. An elbow came back at me and caught me under one eye. Furious, I leant back so I was squatting on my knees with the top of my feet pressing their legs down. I rained open handed slaps onto those fair, pale shoulders again and again, the skin reddening.

The action had the effect of pressing my erection against their arse. Each blow I landed made their buttocks clench, each movement they made to move from under me opened that precious, glorious cleft again, and that allowed my dick to slip further between the cheeks of that incredibly muscular butt. The effect was maddening.

They kept reaching behind to try to grab one of my hands so finally I just grabbed both wrists and held them together, sitting up on my heels with my dick caught between the cheeks of their arse pressed hard against their arsehole. The sweat dripping off our bodies made everything slippery.

“Gonna try to fuck me!” It was a guttural growl, full of defiance.

“Ha! Not on your life, you monster! I’m not going to cum in your filthy cunt – you might enjoy that! I’m not going to cum in your dirty little mouth either, in case you get some protein out of my jism. I’m not going to cum on your tits, or on your face, or on your throat. You don’t deserve that! If I do sprog on you, it’ll be into your wretched arsehole. I may as well shoot into shit as on you!” it sounded corny as fuck, but what the hell, I hadn’t done this before.