Indian Aunty Foot Worship
At least partially compensating for all I hated about city life were the night life and the women. I developed a pattern: work my shitty part-time job and study my ass off during the week, then party hard all weekend.While I wasn’t a huge guy by any means, growing up on a farm, athletics, and the Army had kept me hard as nails and quick as a ferret. I wasn’t immensely handsome, but the deep scar on my cheek and my cane somehow combined to make me some kind of babe magnet. Okay, so maybe that’s a bit of an overstatement, but I seldom lacked female companionship if I wanted it. I’d developed a whole new dark glower, a quiet intensity. It wasn’t deliberate, but I scared myself a couple of times when I’d had too much to drink. I also stayed clear of anything resembling a serious relationship. I was purely in the “once burned...” mentality.Then came that unseasonably warm early March Saturday night in the Central West End when I saw Margot again. I’d just settled into the only bar stool. OK Bill thats &hellip, thats all I got out before I gasped as Bill hit me across the backside with his belt really hard and it stung like hell! Fuck! I screamed That really hurt. Stop this now! There was a pause and so I asked If we are going to do this S&M thing, shouldnt we have a safe word or something so that you will know when to stop? Bill replied, again in a menacing whisper Well that would be stopping at your pleasure. This is all about my pleasure and Ill stop when I am ready, at which point he delivered another almighty whack with the belt. Now my arse was burning and I could actually feel the welts raising on my lilywhite skin. During the pause I could Fred breathing heavily behind me and suddenly I was even more shocked to realize that, in spite of my anger and fear, I was getting wet between the legs as well as crying freely. The third stripe with the belt stung even on my now sensitive skin and my arse was burning fiercely but all I could do was scream Fuck, that really.
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