The Kink Therapist: Nothing But Trouble (Erotic Romance Novelette) by Krissy Rose Page A

insides shudder and my pussy throbs in my
bikini bottoms. I’m both excited and weirdly jealous. Hmm. Why
jealous? How can you be red and green at the same time? Did
I want to get spanked? Did I? Tingling butt cheeks and
sweaty palms say so, but I’ve never thought about it. My heart’s
pounding, hard and reckless. I lick my lips and press my joined
fingers against my covered cunt.
    She keeps looking to the door and swiping
her auburn hairline. Sweat loses her concern, and she wrings her
hands and quakes like a Chihuahua. “Please, Rick. What if someone
sees? They’ll judge us. They won’t get it.”
    “I think you’re more afraid of people
knowing you’ve been naughty. Maybe next time you’ll consider the
consequences before you gossip. This is happening. Now, hand
me your purse.”
    She slowly slides the strap off her freckled
shoulder and gathers the purse up to her chest, which is heaving so
rapidly, it makes her boobs bounce.
    Pastor Rick holds out his hand, waiting, and
she creeps the thing over to his clutches. He opens it and peeks
inside. “A belt, my love? Always prepared. Good choice.” He pulls
out the black coil and my cheeks and eyes burn. It’s thick, wide
and nasty looking. Poor Sheila. “You know what to do.”
    I sigh and tuck two fingers under the black
swath of fabric against my arousal. God, I’m so swollen and hot.
And with plenty of juice greeting me, it’s easy to jam myself up to
the hilt at first thrust. Aaahh. Mmm. I shudder and melt as
I rock and roll against my hand. I’m the one who deserves a
thrashing. I slide my thumb into my bikini bottoms too, sticking it
on my clit with a furious rub as I pound away at my hungry hole.
Yeah, I’m masturbating in church. In church , where I have a
front row seat to the most heavenly scene I’ve even witnessed. I’m
in the exact spot where people are reborn. And that’s exactly
what’s happening to me. I’m suddenly alive, I’m new, electrified,
hotter than hell, even more so when Sheila turns away from him,
unbuttons her jean shorts and shoves them to her ankles. Her
fingers hook into the stings along her hips, but she hesitates. Her
sniffles carry.
    “Let’s go, or I’ll have you take off every thing.”
    Everything? Wow. He doesn’t mess around.
    With her hands taking on an even greater
tremble, Sheila gives a push and the lacy, pink intimates whisk
down her limbs and join the shorts at her feet. She bends to the
wall, presses her palms and forehead to it and her ass out a
little. She’s a true Irish sculpture, two perky bubbles and long,
slender stalks, and he’s going to knock that pretty pale off.
    Holding the belt between his teeth, Pastor
Rick runs his hand over his wife’s willing sacrifice. He caresses
and massages her for a few moments, and then starts plastering her
entire butt, and upper thighs too, with spanks that pop
delightfully in my ears. The hailstorm of slaps is making me
delirious. By the time he’s turned her backside and thighs a lovely
shade of pink, she’s sobbing and I’m soaked. I can’t hear her
crying, but her shoulders are bobbing.
    “You know you deserve this. Lower your
shoulders and present that target more fully for the belt.”
    “Yes, Sir.” She lowers the position of her
head, arches her back and widens her stance. The vision between her
legs goes vulgar.
    “Very good.”
    Sir? I can’t believe she’s doing this? And
calling him, Sir ? What an imbalance of power! They have
kids! And she was being treated no different than one of them. Why
wasn’t she protesting more? Why did she bring the implement from
hell herself? From the sounds of it, she carries something around
all the time, like, just in case she slips up. Does he make her do that? I don’t get it. He’s going to belt her, and she’s
barely raising a stink about it. She’s still protruding that ass
crudely, holding steady for the certain pain coming her way.
    Though her compliance is bugging me, I find
the peepshow so