It’s lost between his shirt and his pants, tucked away, hidden, pulled close, serving a dual purpose. You’d never know it’s there, unless he made a point of showing you. And he does, often, a hand resting there as a reminder in public, an intimation of what will happen in private. You have no idea how many other girls he makes a point of showing it to, but the reason you keep returning is that when you’re with him, you don’t care about the other girls. There could be hundreds, thousands even; as long as he looks at you the way he does when he unbuckles and unfurls the soft, worn, brown leather, then coils the belt purposefully around his hand, you can let yourself believe he wears it just for you. This isn’t the first belt that’s been used to strike you. There was the boyfriend in college who had you bend over, skirt around your ankles, camera flashing and belt lashing against your skin before plunging his oversized cock into your unprepared ass. He was all flash and no finesse.
