(One of occasional extracts from my novel Spank: The Improbable Adventures of George Aloysius Brown)
Pem Surjani settles over her husband’s knee with a small sigh of satisfaction. There is no hurry. He will keep her waiting. He always does. Time is on her side now. He places one hand on the small of her back as if holding her captive and with the other he strokes her thighs and buttocks. She stretches luxuriously, arching her back for him. Nothing is said. Each has a part to play in the early morning drama now reaching its climax behind slatted wooden shutters. The anticipation is exquisite. Sensing he is about to begin, she reaches behind to hold him, her slender fingers closing gently around it. The heat, its animal hardness, causes her a sudden intake of breath. No matter how often he spanks her, it excites her as if it were the first time. She gasps and moves to the rhythm. When her buttocks are red and stinging she straddles him and they make love. It always ends in making love.