Dawn woke with a headache that felt biblical. Throbbing behind the eyes, mouth dry as an old sock, with the faint stench of stale tequila still clinging to her breath. Her knee hurt, a lot, and she wasn’t sure why. The duvet wasn’t covering her. Neither was anything else, come to think of it. She was flat on her front, completely starkers, head buried in the pillow, and she could feel the air brushing softly over her bare arse.

She remembered being out. Wine with the girls. Some loud thumping music. Janet arriving late and demanding shots to catch up. It didn’t make sense that they all had shots for her to catch up, but she didn’t remember thinking that at the time. That tray of tequila was the last thing she remembered.

She groaned.

Behind her, there was movement. Footsteps. A shadow fell over her. It was Mitch, her husband. 

“Morning,” he said, a slight undercurrent in his voice that showed he was enjoying her discomfort. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Dawn tried to burrow deeper into the pillow. Her mouth opened, but all that came out was a pathetic grunt.

“Mm,” he said. “So that’s a no.”

“Shots,” she mumbled. “There were shots.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Do you remember getting home?”

“Erm… No.”

He snorted. “You crashed through the front door at four a.m. Woke me up slamming into the coat stand. Missed the stairs, tripped up half of them, with some curses I haven’t heard since I was in the Navy.”

“Oof,” she winced. “That explains the knee.”

“When you finally made it to the bedroom. You kicked your shoes off. One hit the wardrobe; I think you’ve left a dent. But apparently it was the wardrobe’s fault, and you proceeded to call it a ‘sneaky bastard’.”

Dawn wondered if he was making any of this up, but that did sound like her.

“M’sorry.” she mumbled.

Mitch stepped closer.

“You know,” he said, slower now, “I might’ve forgiven all that.”

There was something in his tone that made Dawn glance back. His gaze was fixed on her, on the soft, round swell of her arse. There was a dangerous look in his eyes.

“But then instead of going round to your side of the bed,” he continued, “you climbed straight over me. Tits in my face. Knee in my ribs. Icy feet wedged under my leg.”

She giggled, then groaned. Even laughing hurt. “Sorry...?”

“That’s what you said last night too.” Mitch climbed onto the bed, knelt beside Dawn, and laid a hand on her arse. “You shushed me,” he said. “Told me you were going to make it up to me.”

Dawn smiled into the pillow. “Oh, did I?” She wiggled her arse at him a little. 

His hand came down with a sharp slap.

She yelped. “Oi!” She was surprised; Mitch had never really slapped her like that before. Like she was a naughtly little school girl.

He slapped the other cheek, and it throbbed with heat. 

She groaned again, but not from pain this time. The sting from the slap pulsed through her. Her hips shifted, arse lifting slightly of its own accord.

Another slap. Harder.

She gasped. Fuck. That felt good. Why did that feel so good?

“Yes, you did,” he went on, voice low now, one hand gripping her hip. “Started kissing my chest. Rubbing against me. Telling me how much you loved my cock.”

She squirmed. Her nipples were tight, her cunt throbbing. “See?” she said, breathless. “Why are you mad? Sounds like I was a right treat.”

His hand landed again, sharp enough to make her moan as molten heat flooded between her thighs.

“That’s not the bit I’m mad about,” he said, voice darker now.

She turned her head slightly, still mostly smothered in pillow. “Then what is the bit you’re mad about?”

He moved behind her. She could feel the shift of his weight. One hand gripped her thigh, the other rested lightly on the warm curve of her arse.

“I’ll remind you,” he said.

Then he smacked her again.

“Fuck,” she gasped. Her hips bucked.

He stroked the fresh mark he’d left, then leaned over her, voice rough in her ear. “You rubbed my cock through my boxers,” he said, punctuating it with another sharp slap. “Giggling like a drunken pixie.”

Smack.

She whimpered. His palm was heavy and calloused, landing with perfect precision. Her cunt pulsed with need. Her mouth hung open, panting into the cotton.

“You said…” he dropped his voice low, mimicking hers in a breathy slur, “‘I love this cock so much,’ and, ‘Why’s it always this hard for me, huh?’”

Dawn’s hips rolled. God, she could picture it now: drunk, needy, grinding on him, grabbing at him like a horny little mess. The thought alone had her soaked. Still, she frowned into the pillow.

“That sounds so hot,” she mumbled. She was certainly turned on by the tale. Really fucking turned on. “Why are you mad, then?”

Mitch chuckled, dark and low. “You’ll see soon enough.”

His hand slid between her thighs, not quite where she needed it, just gliding over the slick heat, teasing, tormenting. Then he drew it back and smacked her again.

“You crawled on top of me, tits swinging; it looked great even if your breath smelt like a distillery.”

Smack.

“You yanked my pants down, straddled my hips, cunt soaking wet, and ground on my cock before I’d even said a word.”

Dawn’s fingers twitched. She needed to touch herself. Needed something inside her. Just hearing it all was torture.

Her hand slipped down, just for a quick touch, a bit of pressure, and his hand landed on her ass with a crack, even harder than before.

“No,” he growled. “Not after what you did.”

She whimpered, desperate, legs spreading without thought. “Please,” she breathed.

“Not yet,” he said. “Not till I’m done reminding you.”

She groaned into the pillow, squeezed her thighs together, clenching around nothing. Each spank only made her wetter, needier. Her clit throbbed for friction. Her arse throbbed, pulsing with stinging red heat.

“You grabbed my hands,” Mitch continued, voice thick now too, “and slapped them onto your tits. ‘Play with them. Suck them. C’mon. Be a good boy,’ you demanded.”

Another moan ripped out of Dawn. Her head swam. “Fuck, that’s hot…” God, she loved this. The way he was taking his time. Drawing it out. She looked back at him again, eyes blinking in the bright morning light.

He was straddling her thighs. One hand raised to strike again. The other was stroking his cock. Long, slow strokes. 

She bit the pillow to stifle another moan.

He leaned over her again, voice all gravel and velvet, one hand sliding down between her thighs to tease the soaked slit he’d been tormenting.

“Know what you did next?” he murmured, fingers dipping between her lips. Not entering. Just brushing enough to make her whimper. “You grabbed my cock. Lined it up.”

Dawn caught her breath, knowing what was coming next.

He stroked himself again, dragging the head along the crease of her arse, just enough for her to feel it. Teasing. Tempting.

“And then,” he said, voice dropping low, “you dropped down on me. Your hot, drunk, dripping cunt swallowing me whole in one stroke.”

She gasped, back arching. His fingers skimmed through the mess between her legs, and it nearly sent her over the edge.

“Rode me like a fucking stallion,” he said, still stroking himself. “Wild. Erratic. Hair flying. Tits bouncing. Holding my shoulders and screaming, YEEHAW!, like we were in a fucking rodeo.”

Dawn groaned, caught between mortification and raw, unbearable need. Vague memories came to her that she had been to a western-themed bar at some point last night. 

“Wait,” she panted. “Is that why you’re mad? Was I too loud? Did someone hear? Did the neighbours complain?”

Smack.

“Stop guessing,” he growled. “We’ll get there.”

She whimpered again. His hand returned to her cunt, stroking, teasing, maddening. He traced slow circles around her clit but never stayed long enough.

“You were stunning,” he said, his voice rough with arousal, his hand working faster over his cock. “Flushed. Glowing. Completely lost in the moment.”

She moaned into the sheets, grinding shamelessly. Her cunt was soaked, her thighs trembling.

“Then you slowed down,” he murmured, “got all soft. Sensual. Whispered filthy little things right in my ear…”

He leaned close again. His voice shifted. Mimicking hers.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy when you’re annoyed,” Mitch muttered.

His hand struck again, making Dawn’s hips jolt.

“This cock was made for me, y’know that?”

Another slap right on the same spot on her arse. It was almost pulsing. 

“Love how you feel when I’m full of you…”

He slid two fingers between her slick lips again, gliding through the wet folds without pushing in. Her body bucked, desperate, every nerve alive.

“You slowed down to grind,” he said. “You rolled your hips like you wanted to milk me for every drop. Nuzzled into my neck. Kissed me softly. Licked your way up to my jaw…”

Dawn whimpered. Her hands fisted the sheets. Her cunt was soaking his fingers now. Her arse throbbed, her clit begged for pressure, and every muscle in her body burnt with need.

“Then,” he went on, voice shifting rougher, “you sighed. Real soft.”

She smiled into the pillow. That did sound like her.

“Then you stopped moving.”

Her smile froze.

He paused for just a second. “You fucking snored.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Mid-fuck.” Smack. “On top of me,” Smack, “and you fucking fell asleep.”

Each word came with a slap, harder now, less playful, pure punishment. Her arse burnt, her thighs trembled, but the sting only made her wetter. Every time his hand landed, her cunt clenched around the ghost of him.

“I tried to wake you,” he growled, hand firm on her hip, the other still stroking himself faster, his breath short. “Called your name. Shook your shoulder.”

Crack.

“You mumbled, told me to shut up and let you rest. Let you rest, Dawn. I was still fucking inside you!”

She moaned into the pillow, mortified and turned on beyond reason.

He smacked her again, so hard her hips jerked forward. Her breasts dragged against the sheets, nipples tight, body aching.

“So I had to push you off. Roll you onto your side like a fucking corpse, my cock dripping, balls aching.”

His hand tightened around his cock. The sound of it, wet, rough strokes, filled the room.

His voice dropped low, a deep resonant growl.

“I had to finish myself. Alone. In the dark. While you drooled into my pillow.”

Dawn whimpered. She wanted to touch herself so badly she could’ve screamed.

He didn’t let her. He just kept smacking her.

The sounds of his wanking sped up. She could feel his knees pressing against hers, the weight of him bearing down as he continued to spank her, over and over.

“Payback,” he hissed.

Then he groaned.

The first hot spurt of cum hit her arse. Sticky and thick, it felt almost cooling and soothing as it splattered across red, punished skin. Another landed lower, just above her pussy, slowly dripping down between her labia. He kept thrusting, his legs clamped round her thighs and quivering as more cum spilt forth, streaking in hot ropes across her back.

Then the final slap. His hand came down hard, cracking against her arse and sending the spunk splashing all over her.

He chuckled. Low. Satisfied.

“Now we’re even,” he said, breathless.

He climbed off the bed, wiped his hand on her back, and sauntered off toward the bathroom.

Dawn turned her head, sticky, red, and still desperate.

“Seriously? You’re leaving me like this?”

He grinned over his shoulder. “You left me like that. Welcome to the club.”

“But I’m soaked,” she moaned, wriggling her hips, dragging her thighs together for any hint of friction.

“That’s payback, babe,” he said. “You’ll have to finish yourself. Just like I did.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, whistling.

Dawn groaned loudly and stared at the ceiling. Her body was screaming for release, still tingling, still throbbing.

She reached between her thighs with one hand, the other gripping the spunk-smeared sheets. It wasn’t the same. No smacks. No growls. Just her own fingers and the lingering heat from his hand.

Still, she rubbed hard. Fast. Her clit was so swollen it ached, but she needed it. Needed to cum. Even if it wasn’t as good. 

She sighed as she tipped over the edge, moaned softly, and cursed him as she came. “Bastard,” she muttered. Although she had to agree, she might have deserved it.