It is New Year's Eve. The time is 11:49 pm. The living room is very silent. In front of the TV a pair of buttocks stick up from the foot stool to which they are held by intricate rope work.

Buttocks are being slapped gently by firm and strong – yet gentle hands. Not a single syllable is uttered. Nine minutes pass with this being the only thing going on. Suddenly no contact is felt anymore and the mean hiss of a cane cutting through the air at high velocity is heard. A body on a foot stool shudders in expectation of what is to come.

A few more mean hisses are heard, then a minute grunt of satisfaction.

The living room clock strikes midnight. The angry hiss of the cane drowns in the loud ring of its bells. A thin line of angry fire erupts in a pair of upturned buttocks. A few seconds pass by, and the clock strikes its second chime, as the second line of fire erupts. Then a third. And a fourth.

At the fifth stroke a load gasp erupts from a throat at knee height. Intense pain flows out from the angry red welts of the perfectly rounded butt in front of the TV set that shows the hands of Big Ben in a perfectly vertical position.

At the sixth stroke a tiny whimper is heard. A pair of buttocks squirm what little the ties allow as the seventh stroke lands. Then comes the eighth and ninth at slightly increasing strength. The power of the blows are increased a little more at the tenth, and another tiny whimper is heard.

Again the dosage increases for number eleven, drawing another loud gasp.

The intensity of the twelfth stroke is a record breaker, and a scream rings out through the living room, as the cane lands rattling on the floor and a firm hand caresses a burning red buttock.

An entirely different colour of flames arise in hypersensitive buttocks as angry red welts are gently wiped in chilli oil by a firm right hand.

Gentle fingers of a left hand reach between sensitive thighs to caress and arouse.

An almost inaudible whisper is heard by only one ear at knee height:

"Happy New Year, Darling." Another tiny whimper is heard as red striped buttocks begins to shudder and a groin begins to boil in the grasp of an oncoming orgasm approaching with all the tenderness and delicacy of an enraged bull.

Another scream rings out as volcanic inferno breaks loose in limps tied to a foot stool – now dearly beloved, and a voice gasping at knee height, “Thank you, my love, and happy New Year to you too."

Which one is you?

Happy new year to y'all

FirmHand
Written for a friend here on fetlife