The Riding Crop
“Is that your fella over there,” my colleague said to me, pointing to someone right on the other side of the store.
I squinted to look. “Yeah, I think it is.”
It was odd; I hadn’t been expecting One Ball, but there he was, walking towards me, dressed in uniform, with a bag in his hand. He looked damn hot, too.
“Hello, you” I said, giving him a hug. Super unprofessional in the work place, I know.
“I know you’re not finished yet,” he said, handing over the bag. “Take a look in there. We’re celebrating. I’ll be waiting in the usual spot.”
And with that, he gave me a wink, turned on his heels, and walked away again.
Celebrating? Celebrating what? Huh??? I was so confused, and not for the first time with him. I didn’t have time to think about it for too long, though. There was work to do, things to finish off, stuff to lock up.
I did steal a quick peek into the bag before I hastily hid it away in my locker. There was just one item inside: a brand new, still with the tabs and labels on, black, leather riding crop.
Oh, hello.
With a smirk on my face, I worked on what I needed to do. Just a few minutes later, though, I felt my phone vibrating in the back pocket of my jeans. It was a message from him.
I’m going to cane your ass tonight as you bend over my knees.
My face and neck flushed with heat, but I shoved the phone back in my pocket and carried on with work. Then, though, my phone vibrated again.
I know you’re thinking about that riding crop. Want me to wear my uniform while I use it?
I absolutely hate that I told him how hot I found his work apparel, and I knew from the huge grin on his face at the time, that he’d use it against me forever more. Not that I minded, of course. His horny little messages were irritating me because of the distraction. The sooner I got my work done, the sooner I could go home and get to grips with him. Or, rather, he got to grips with me.
They were also winding me up in all the very best ways, arousal seeping out of me and dampening my underwear.
Before I’d had the chance to put my phone away it vibrated again.
How wet are you?
A grin spread across my face, spotted by my colleague, much to my annoyance.
“Oh, hello,” my colleague said. “Sext from the boyfriend?”
I flushed bright red, answering her question. She just chuckled.
Twenty-five minutes later, the doors of the store finally shut and locked, I made my way to find OB.
“Hey,” he said, leaning across the centre console to open the passenger door for me. Always the gentleman. Ish.
“Hey, you,” I said back, climbing into the car. “Sorry I took so long. Some guy wouldn’t stop texting filth.”
“Oh, really? Point him out. I’ll beat him up,” OB grinned. “I can’t wait to cane you.”
The change of tone took me completely by surprise. Once again, my face flushed beetroot red. What on earth had gotten into him? I thought that he might be trying to make things up to me following our recent spate of arguments.
Whatever it was and as surprising as it was, I lapped it up. I do so love a playful man.
Retrieving the riding crop from the bag I silently placed it on the dashboard. Two could play that game. I turned to him. Now what?
“See when we get in,” he said. “I want you to bend over that table that’s in the kitchen so we can test the smackiness.”
I laughed. “Smackiness? Is that the technical term?”
In response, he told me everything he planned on doing to me, with that riding crop, in teeny-tiny detail. By the time we got home I was so aroused, there was the faint darkness of a damp patch on his car seat when I got out.
We went into my place silently, climbing the stairs, then heading straight for the kitchen. Firstly, I had to put the kettle on. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, he wanted me to bend over the table, so that’s just what I was going to do.
Still in my work uniform, without even bothering to kick off my shoes, I cleared the few things that were on the table, clicked the kettle on out of bratty defiance, then draped myself exactly where he wanted me.
The first hit came without warning, leather crossing both buttocks, my jeans offering no protection. I couldn’t help but yelp in pain, but it was the good kind of pain, not the bad kind. The more dominant he was, the more he was willing to push the boundaries, the hotter I found him… and the more turned on I became.
I was still processing the first hit when the second one came, just above the first, even more painful. I wish I hated the way it stung my skin, but I didn’t. In fact, I fucking loved it. So, I waited for the third and final blow before standing up.
I wanted to tell him to go to my bedroom, but he beat me to it with a barked order.
“Bedroom. Now.”
My skin throbbed where he’d dealt those painful blows, but that didn’t stop him from smacking my ass one more time as we scrambled to the bed, shedding our clothes along the way. Each throb made my cunt clench with anticipation and a shiver run through my spine. I didn’t know what he planned to do, but I had no doubt that I’d enjoy it.
“Should I strip?” I whispered, almost afraid to break the silence in case it also broke the spell.
OB nodded without looking at me as he arranged things on the bed. “On all fours,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
I did as I was told and waited patiently. Just like in the kitchen, the first blow hit my ass unexpectedly, almost knocking the air out of my lungs. The riding crop hit again, too quickly after the first, then again, a third time.
There was a pause after the third hit, giving me time to catch my breath and brace myself for whatever came next. To my surprise (and partial dismay,) he didn’t swing the crop again; instead, he gripped my hips and thrust inside me.
Part of me wanted to complain, to ask him to pick up that crop and play with me a little more. I wasn’t disappointed, but I wasn’t finished with our new toy yet. I didn’t say a word, though. In all fairness, I didn’t get the chance; OB reached around and started rubbing his fingers over my clit.
Grunting and sweaty he pounded into me, frantically trying to make me come before he did. He gave it a pretty decent effort, too. We didn’t quite get there, but feeling him erupt all over my back and butt was good enough for me… for a while, at least. I do so love hearing, feeling, enjoying his come.
And then, he told me to sit on his face…
See: always the gentleman. Ish.
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Sit On My Face.
Thank you so much for reading my little blog today! 🖤
You can read all about One Ball, from start to finish, right here.
If you’re in the market for something else to read, why not take a peek here:
