I've been a bad girl. I know that's why he's making me lay like this, tummy propped on a pillow so my ass is raised and my cunt exposed, arms stretched up over my head. (Except, of course, one of my hands is actually between my legs. But let's not let that spoil the fantasy.)
It's the one day a week I'm allowed to have an orgasm. I've got five minutes to come as much as I like. If I can't come in five minutes, I'll have to wait until next week. I'm so close but I can't get over the edge. I've been holding back too hard, too long, and I can't reach my release that quickly anymore. Five minutes passes. This has just been another tormenting denial.
I'm tied spread eagle. Chained, actually. Cold metal on my wrists makes me shiver. My nipples harden and ache. There will be a man in to fuck me soon. I'm just a hole to him, a hot, wet hole. Or am I? If that were all I were, why would he bother hurting me?
I'm back in the first scene, exposed and guilty and fearful. He's spanking me, and I'm wriggling more and more frantically. Am I trying to avoid the burning blows or to more effectively hump the pillow? Either way, he decides enough is enough and holds my back down with his knee. He keeps on spanking me, telling me all the reasons I deserve it. (My orgasm tears out of me with a wail like a subway car on a curve. I'm flopping around the bed panting when I hear footsteps approaching the door. Time to pull down my skirt and act composed.)