At moments like this there is no before and no after. There is just now.

There is this breath.

And this one.

She lowers her head to rest on her arms, the mattress giving slightly as she shifts her weight forward. Her long hairs falls forward, an extra curtain to hide her face.

He pushes her knees even further apart and she bites her lip; shame and anticipation building like warm honey inside her.

She stays silent however, silent as he traces his finger tips over the lines and welts he has created on her thighs and bottom and silent as she moves against him her will not her own. She tries again to feel shame but the emotion is lost as his finger reaches just under the curve of her bottom and disappears forwards to trace the evidence of her desire.

She feels his thighs as he leans against her and alters the belt. His thighs are broad and naked. He is naked behind her as she is naked before him. She is bent and exposed before him. She knows that he is hard, she fees him nudge against her as he repositions the strap of leather.

It rests over her back, the buckle bouncing slightly against her ribs when he makes her shudder with his touch.

He leaves it there after he has used it, taking it up without warning and slashing it across her thighs and the curve of her cheeks. At first she cried, then she begs but at some point it became this moment. Now.

She waits.

She hears his breath, hears the desire he feels for her. Wordlessly she begs him for more.

More of the belt, it could be.

More of his touch, perhaps.

More of him, certainly.

More.

Bent over before him with his hands pushing and covering her bum he moves her slowly back until his cock disappears inside her.

A rush of breath escapes her as though he has forced it out. She has waited for him like this for so long that he feels almost unbearably and perfectly large, as though he pushes her from inside to accommodate him.

The stripes sting as he pulls her towards and away from him, the belt still in place for now, she can feel it rest on her back.

He is slow, calm, almost measured as each stroke fills and leaves her in a powerful wave. Just as the sea pounds at the beach he takes her back and forth.

She wants more, she rises, her arms straight as she pushes back against him and the belt drops to the floor.

He stills. She has no choice but to follow but utters a cry of despair as he withdraws fast and sure, the heat and the force of him lost to her in an instant.

She hears him pick up the belt and knows he is taking his time to fold it, to prepare it. She imagines him standing behind her, erect and full of desire; desire to beat her, desire to take her.

She feels the sharp reproach as the belt strikes her, a loud snap in the quiet room, a bark in the night. He is standing and the belt crosses her, at first he strikes from the right and then the left. She has failed him, she let it fall and her swollen and reddened bottom rises to accept her punishment. She does not realise she is crying out until it stops, an agony of chastisement, a penitent lover- she stays still as though to beg him to return and swiftly he does.

He leaves the belt wrapped around his hand and she feels it there, as though at any moment he will resume striking her while he enters her, so sure and hard that she is thrown forward and pushes her face into the pillow.

His leathered hand holds her shoulder, keeping her steady against him as he takes her with each stroke. It may as well be a declaration, so forceful is he.

But his other hand finds her hip and then melts around her finding her small and hard and full of need for his touch. She slams back onto him, animal like in her need for release. Every touch of him controls her, her belted hand, his sensuous hand, his filling of her, his force against her punished, hot, scarlet bottom.

When she comes it is because he tells her to, because he is shuddering into her, hard and gentle as only a lover like he can be.