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"Please don't Daddy," I begged with tears streaming down my face and landing on my breasts."Shut up," he said hoarsely and brought the belt back again.Again and again he hit me, painting my ass and upper thighs with red stripes. After five or six of these my mind went to a place where it didn't allow it to hurt as much any more. I clung to the pole and pressed my body against it as though it were a lover. After 2 dozen of these lashes, a funny thing happened. I started to anticipate the next one with the pleasure. After that, each one felt like a lover's caress as opposed to hurting me. I looked forward to the next one as I pushed my fat mound against the bedpost and moved up and down against it ever so slightly. It was as though another part of me was looking down on this impossible situation and saying." Enjoy this. This is what love is."Sensing that I was no longer responding the way he expected, Hank stopped beating me."Now for the rest of your punishment," he grunted.With that he. He finally showed up, occupying the passenger seat of a tiny red sports convertible. For several minutes he just sat there, as he and his young driver had what I took to be their goodbyes; but when the door opened, I could see his companion slipping his hand from my passenger's left thigh. He stepped out, looked over to me as I waited by the wing of the airplane, and waved. Almost at once - as a habitual gawker of the male body - I could feel the stirrings that clearly must be linked to my visualizing what his thigh must have felt like.As he walked over to the plane - actually, he sauntered in that mesmerizing swagger that puts the very best spin on the male torso - my attentions to his thigh now slipped a bit northwards to the full, round prominence behind the fly of his Levi's, leaving little doubt as to the maleness of my charter customer. The stirring in my own Levi's was now undeniable, as my musings were interrupted by..."Hi, I'm Rob. I guess you're waiting for me. Sorry to be.
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