Hope your year has been a good one, mine has, generally. This will be a very short blogpost to let you know I am still here and will be blogging next year too. And to wish you all, dear Readers, a very happy new year. Take care and be kind to yourself.
Tuesday, 23 December 2008
Things don't always turn out as you had planned. My plan was to put the parts of the Surrender story up, one by one and then other blog posts in between. This weekend I got this horrible cold and I am still affected by it. This has taken away some of the inspiration for writing. Most of my energy has been spent on very ordinary things, like trying to sleep and eat and that sort of thing.
So, for this reason I give you the fifth instalment of Surrender now and wish you all, Dear Readers, a Happy Christmas. I don't know when I will be able to blog again but I will be back as soon as possible. Take care and have a cracking Holiday...and be kind to yourself!
We met regularly, he took me to dinners and parties and I basked in his sunshine. His strange orders became more and more frequent and almost always when we went out he had some demand I had to meet. I went to parties with no knickers and I wore short skirts for him. He made me pull my skirt up in the darkness of cinemas and once we went walking with me clad only in a coat with nothing on underneath it.
From time to time I spent the night in his flat and he always had me in ways I wasn't aware was possible. He always wanted to be in full control and he always made me surrender. I felt like a princess, cared for and catered for.
He went on long trips for his work and I had to stay home and long for him. He often phoned and had me perform some task for him, be it teach without knickers or wash the dishes in the nude.
It was like a game and I played along. It gave me a thrill to know myself under his command but there was a part of me that wondered where it would lead. A part that told me that I should not play along so willingly. I had sensed a hint of something more sinister in this game and that had to do with humiliation. There was a hint of him wanting to humiliate me, and seeing how much of it I could take. It was about me being naked while he was clad and me obeying him everywhere. I had felt, at first, it was about his wanting me to be available to him and his demands.
One day when I went, for the third time in a week, to lectures with no knickers I felt weary and tired of the games. I felt it was enough. I wasn't flattered anymore and it had become a tiresome duty I had to perform.
My sense of self rose up and I put on my knickers and felt all the better for it. I was proud of myself but there was also a sense of naughtiness in me for being disobedient. I knew he wouldn't like it but we had been together long enough for me to be able to challenge him.
Still my heart was beating hard as I went to his flat. He opened the door and greeted me. I saw how pleased he was to see me and I felt guilty for being disobedient. I had decided to stand firm so I dismissed the guilt and tried to pluck up my courage.
He sensed that something was amiss but didn't ask me right away. He invited me in and asked me if I wanted a glass of wine. I said yes and trembling I accepted the glass.
He asked me about my day and I told him all went well with my lectures. He looked at me trying to figure out what I was thinking of. At last he asked me.
'What is the matter?' he asked, 'What is bothering you?'
'You will think me silly for being bothered with this,' I said, 'but today I am wearing knickers.'
He stood in silence for a while. I could tell it was a matter of importance to him. I wasn't silly.
'Lift your skirt!' he said.
I hadn't expected this and was taken by surprise. I lifted my skirt and he could see that today I was wearing white cotton knickers.
'Are you angry?' I asked with apprehension.
'No, I am not angry,' he replied, 'we can fix this in no time.'
'I don't understand,' I said.
'We will sort this out,' he said, 'for a start, take those knickers off!'
'You don't understand,' I said, my voice weak.
'What is it I don't understand?'
'I don't want to take my knickers off.'
He stared at me. The stern headmaster was back. I struggled not to feel like a little girl. My whole world was rocking. I had to do this.
'Go and lean over that table!' he said.
'Why?' I replied.
'Because I am going to punish you.'
'What do you mean?'
'You'll see,' he said, still with the stern look on his face.
'Why do you punish me?'
'You didn't do as I told you.'
'Why do I have to do as you tell me?'
'I want you to.'
'Is that really enough?'
'It is enough for me.'
We looked at each other. I felt my resolve disappear. He was stronger than me and I couldn't stand against him.
'Don't do it!' a voice in my head shouted. This was wrong. I was a free woman. I didn't accept punishments.
My cheeks were burning as I walked over to his big dinner table and leaned over it. I wasn't sure what my punishment would be but my position gave me ideas. Still I couldn't believe it.
He stood in his place for a long while but then he approached me.
'Are you ready?' he asked.
I nodded my reply, unable to speak.
'Are you ready?' he repeated his question.
'Yes,' I said, my voice trembling.
I felt his hand grip my neck and hold me down, then a hard slap landed on my bottom. I gasped at the pain of the impact.
Before I had time to react another hard slap landed on my bottom. I couldn't believe this was happening. I was being spanked. And it hurt.
My head was in turmoil. I was being spanked. I was being punished. This was not me. This could not be real.
The next smack brought me back to reality. It hurt. He hit me hard and each slap made my body rock forward.
I was in shock. I didn't protest or defend myself. I couldn't. I was at his mercy and he chose to spank me.
He gave me eleven-twelve hard smacks. I leaned over the table feeling utterly defeated. I hadn't even struggled. I felt humiliated by accepting this, by letting him spank me, hitting me, making me suffer. I was devastated.
Then he lifted my skirt. I felt tears in my eyes before the next hard slap landed on my now less protected bottom. The impact was sharper, harder and was felt more directly. I knew this was his intention and I felt utterly humiliated by him baring me like this.
Smack after smack landed on my knickerclad bottom and each of them made me jump. I didn't cry, I didn't scream but I moaned and squirmed and I felt completely overwhelmed by a sense of utter shame.
After about a dozen slaps he stopped. I was still leaning over the table. He had let go of my neck but I stayed in place, too shocked to move.
'Take those knickers down now!' he ordered.
I wasn't sure why I was doing it. Was it to make me finally obey or was he going to spank me on the bare?
My trembling hands moved backwards and awkwardly got hold of my knickers and pulled them down. When I had pulled them down to my upper thighs and bared my bottom he took hold of them and violently yanked them down to below my knees.
Again I felt the grip harden on my neck and I knew then I was to be spanked some more, this time on my naked bottom.
The smacks were harder and stung more. I felt tears in my eyes and I was sobbing between the slaps. I struggled for breath, struggled to keep some order in my mind but the relentless smacking of my naked bottom made me squirm and pant.
He smacked me longer this time, perhaps two dozen smacks. My bottom was smarting when he stopped.
'You may rise now,' he said and I scrambled to my feet.
I dared not look at him. I just stood there, my knickers around my ankles.
My heart was beating violently in my breast.
'You did well,' he said.
I sensed a new tone in his voice and I looked up. I saw approval in his eyes but he was still very stern. He knew we had been struggling and he had won. He showed no triumph, just determination.
'But take those knickers off!' he said.
I slipped the knickers from my feet and put them on a chair. I looked down.
'I want to go home,' I said.
'That could be a good idea,' he said, 'this must have been a shock for you.'
I didn't realise then, that this comment would suggest that he knew exactly what he was doing. I just assumed he was as upset as I was.
I left his flat feeling dreadful. I wasn't even bothered that I wore no knickers under my fairly short skirt. I walked away, my heart in darkness, my head humming with humiliation. I had been spanked.
Our relationship had taken a strange kind of turn. I knew he was a dominant man, that kind of man who wanted to be in charge. I had let him. I had liked that. It had made me feel cared for. This was strange for someone like me but I had accepted it as some kind of deeper urge within me for being seen and loved and perhaps even a little childish. Was this feminine? It was the tradition, the passive female and the active male. But my acceptance of it, my secret longing for it felt more personal, more about me wanting it, regardless of what gender I was.
He had clearly shown that he wanted more than just being dominant. He wanted to rule. Although all of those orders and obedience I had shown him was a game, a partly pleasant game we played there was a backdrop to it that felt real. He was natural in dominating his surroundings. I wasn't naturally passive, at least not in my professional life but with him it felt right.
He wanted to rule. He wanted to assert his will by force. He had actually spanked me. It wasn't just for fun, as a foreplay. No, he had spanked me for real. It had hurt. It was humiliating and there had been no sex, not even a hint of him doing it for pleasure.
This was a pivot point. And I had to tell him that this was a step too far. I would play his game. I wanted to play his game but this was a step too far.
Wednesday, 17 December 2008
Sorry to keep you waiting. Here is the fourth part of the story. Maybe you think it is too slow. I don't know. Anyway, here it is.
On the stair to his flat he stopped me. On the second landing he turned me around and stopped me. He gently pushed me against the wall and standing on the step just below me he put his hand under my skirt and found his way to my groin. I gasped as he put his hand on my sex. He had touched me before but never like this, never on a stair and never had I been so open and available for his touch as this.
He put his hand on my sex and there was nothing to stop him. I looked around to see if someone would see us as he slipped his fingers inside me. I struggled against a sense of being violated. It was strange to be touched by him like that in this place, but his fingers caressed me and penetrated me and it was sweet.
I missed his intrusion as he withdrew and we climbed the stairs to his flat. I was trembling with arousal and shame as he opened the door. My dress fell on the floor inside the door and since I wasn't wearing a bra there were no more clothes to remove. I kicked off my shoes and was completely naked as he lead me to the bedroom.
He forbid me to touch him and he didn't remove his clothes as his fingers once again invaded me. There, lying naked on the bed, I surrendered to him for the second time this evening and this time I surrendered completely.
There on that bed I realised that far from wanting me to take initiative and take command he wanted more to be in charge. And far from being scared by that, I felt relieved and blessed by it.
I was changed. I knew that. Something within me had changed. In a way I still the same. I went on with my duties at work and nothing was different regarding that. I still taught my students, I still made my research and I still wrote my papers. Inside I was filled with a new kind of life, a life I had never known before.
I found it strange that my greatest sense of being loved and desired had come when I had surrendered to his will completely and humbled myself to the extent of shaming myself in public. No one had noticed, I think, but for me it was as good as public.
This sense of surrender clashed with my knowledge of myself and I couldn't get my head around it. I managed, somehow, to rationalise it as being a surrender in sexual matters, that my humiliation had been to make me realise I had to expose myself to sexual desires, as anyone had to, in order to be fully alive.
He, my demon, challenged this explanation constantly. He had made me surrender once and he wanted more.
One morning, when he knew I was on my way to a lecture he phoned me.
'Hello,' he said calmly.
'Hello, my love, I replied sensing my heart beating faster with joy.
'You are on your way to lectures?'
'Yes, I have a busy morning,' I replied, 'and then some in the afternoon.'
'I want you to wear a skirt,' he said.
I was a bit taken aback as he said this so casually.
'I am already wearing a skirt.'
'Good,' he said, and I heard him smile.
'Did you call me to tell me to wear a skirt?'
'I want you to take your knickers off.'
'There is no time,' I said, sensing that he wanted to play me from a distance.
'Taking your knickers off is done in no time,' he said, 'and I want you to go without them today, until we meet at the Carfax Café.'
'You heard me.'
I sensed some of that hardness in his voice.
'You must be joking,' I tried.
'Just do it,' he said, 'I will check when we meet. Bye.'
He hung up and I stood trembling in my hallway.
This was a time for decisions. I would not lie to him. I knew that. Either I disregarded his orders and told him I didn't fancy his games or I took my knickers off and went through with it, following his orders.
Why would I obey him? It didn't seem to be a matter of prestige for him. He could handle my refusal. I knew he could. I was a free woman and no one ordered me around. I didn't have to follow his orders.
But he had sounded so determined. He wanted me to obey him and maybe it was a game. Maybe he wanted me to be prepared for him, be ready for him. Maybe he thought that going commando at the department would make me aroused and ready for him, showing my surrender to him, even if it was just sexual, part of our foreplay.
Or maybe he wanted me simply to obey him. Maybe it was just an order, him testing me, trying to figure out how strong I was, how obedient I was. Maybe I would even lose his respect if I did follow his orders.
I saw his face before me, the headmaster's face, the stern, demanding face. He was in earnest, it was not in jest. He had ordered me and I had no reason to obey him. I was a free woman.
I took a deep breath, slipped my knickers from me and stepped out. I was trembling as I walked to university. My skirt was knee long but I knew I was naked underneath it.
I was aware of my nakedness, my unclad body the whole day and I wondered why I had obeyed him. Why had I done this? Did I want to surrender to him? In a way I imagined I did. I imagined, perhaps, this was a game, something he did to arouse me, to make me play along. But I felt the impact of it more profoundly. I knew I was a university lecturer teaching with no knickers under her skirt and I knew I had done it because I had been ordered to.
Being aware of how I sat and how my skirt rose and fell as I moved and always crossing my legs as I sat made me weary and as I walked to the meeting place I was full of a strange sensation. I wasn't angry. I should have been but I wasn't. I was aroused but not violently so. It was more like a distant murmuring deep within me.
I recognised the feeling as I entered the café. It was a mix of apprehension and humility. I felt deeply humbled by the day's exercise and I wasn't used to that.
As we sat down he looked at me.
'Did you take your knickers off?' he asked.
'Will you be quiet,' I hissed, 'anyone can hear you.'
'Well, did you?' he said, his voice steady, as clear as before.
'The whole day?'
'Let me check.'
'Not here,' I said alarmed.
He moved closer to me and turned his body so that he covered me from the view of the tabled behind us. Then he slipped his hand under my skirt and let it glide over my thigh.
I gasped as I felt his fingers move upwards, ever closer to me. Eventually he reached my hip and sensed that I was, indeed, not wearing any knickers. His hand moved along my lower belly, quickly and down over my sex and for a short moment his fingers slipped into me. I held my breath as they entered me and then withdrew.
He smiled. And the strangest thing happened. Instead of being angry with him for ordering me around, humiliating me by examining me in public, touching me, violating me and arousing me, I felt proud, proud for having done what he told me to.
I looked at this man wondering about the power he had over me, the power I had given him.
Was I just lonely? Was it just that I was so desperate for his sweet touch, his ability to arouse and satisfy that I bowed willingly to his whims, out of fear of being abandoned again? I didn't know. I was vulnerable, ever so vulnerable and he made it clear to me. I longed for his touch and I feared losing it. I didn't know. One thing I did know was that I had no choice. I couldn't protect myself from the importance of him or the desire to be loved and touched.
He saw me and he touched me, I desired him and he made me feel desirable. I wasn't sure of his love but I knew he cared for me. I could not just pretend he didn't made me feel this way and I couldn't protect myself. I had to go forward.
Friday, 12 December 2008
It seems as if it is quite common nowadays with lists and questionnaires and such things on blogs. You know that I prefer to talk about myself through my stories and fantasies but now I decided to start a theme here, with Six of the Best of different things, such as songs and books and films.
So these are Six of the Best songs that have not been written by David Bowie (I will make a list of those later). Anyway, note that it doesn't say the Six Best, but Six of the Best. This means these songs are a pick of the best, not necessarily the best.
1 Wuthering Heights (Kate Bush, 1978)
This is simply a brilliant song, unlike most other songs. Kate Bush's voice is special, like no other voice. I love this song, it brings tears to my eyes. It is very romantic and it is not ashamed of being romantic. When I see Kate Bush sing her song I can see how it easy it would be to make fun of her, she is quirky and silly. But she is more than that. She is sensual and dreamy and so immensely confident that it touches my soul.
2 This is the Sea (The Waterboys, 1985)
The music that the Waterboys created around the mid 80s has been called the Big Music. I think I know why. This music touches my soul too but in a very different way. This is spiritual music, there is something that transcends the everyday life here. I can't really explain it but this song is one of the most happy songs I know, more full of life and hope than almost anything else.
3 What Goes On (The Velvet Underground, 1968)
When I listen to Velvet Underground, and especially the earlier albums I get quite enthusiastic and want to tell everyone that this is the best band ever. This is minimalistic music, simple in all aspects but so brilliant it hurts. I can't really put my finger on what makes this to such a great song. Perhaps I don't have to. Just listen to it and enjoy something really great.
4 Get It On (T.Rex, 1971)
This is a unique song by a unique artist. This song moves on in its own pace, relentless but oh so sweet and gentle. This is a song that takes hold of you and moves you along in a kind of smooth undulating movement. It rocks but it rocks so sweetly that you just want to close your eyes and be swept along. This is sexy in a way that seems to be forgotten nowadays.
5 Common People (Pulp, 1995)
This is one of my favourites at the moment. I don't really know what to say about it. It is a great song, full of passion and anger, brilliant in its simplicity. I never got the Brit Pop Wonder. As you may have noticed I prefer older music. This one, however, makes me want to dance and sing and that is quite good for a song.
6 Eternal Flame (The Bangles, 1989)
This is the ultimate romantic song. It has it all but it stays short of making you choke on its sweetness. I love the voice of Susanna Hoffs, it is so vulnerable and delightful that I just want to cry. This is so lovely I have no words for it. One of the best love songs ever written by a member in a band that had Girl Power long before Spice Girls ever became a phenomenon.
Tuesday, 9 December 2008
Here it is, the third part of the story.
'No, my love,' he said as I rose to my feet, 'do it here!'
I had been on my way to the ladies to take my underwear off but his words stopped me. I sank back on the couch.
My heart was beating violently. I knew I must have had a very red face. I had decided to comply but now he had told me I had to do it by the table.
All my defiance, all my annoyance rose up and I looked at him and was prepared to tell him that I wasn't his plaything to command like that. This was not who I was.
I looked at him and what I saw scared me. I saw steel hard resolve in his eyes. I saw a kind of harshness and authority I hadn't known for many years. He resembled the demanding and harsh teachers I had had in school. He was the headmaster who didn't tolerate any disobedience.
A sense of anxiety swept over me and I felt like a little girl, like a silly little girl who had been told to do something she didn't want to do but who had no real choice. A small girl can't fight the grown ups, a little girl has to do what she is told.
I felt an urge to start crying, because I felt so humiliated by his gaze and his demand and my own lack of power. I felt vulnerable and powerless. And now I had seen his strength.
Part of me was that little girl who had no choice and part of me was the grown up woman who had a choice but decided to obey. I surrendered. In a flash I knew I was going to do it. I knew I would reach down and pull my knickers down.
I felt a surge of humiliation and shame sweep over me, the anger was gone. I had surrendered and was relieved I didn't fight it any more. I felt a strange kind of elation when giving in, as if this was something completely new, some new way of living my life I hadn't known before.
I looked around the restaurant and saw that no one was looking at me. I leaned forward and let my hands reach up under my skirt. I looked around some more to make sure my movements went unnoticed. My heart was beating hard and my cheeks were flashing as I lifted my skirt, just enough to allow my hands to get hold of my knickers.
I tugged at them, pulling them down, realising that I had to lift my body to make them come free. I leaned to the right, towards the restaurant as I worked my knickers down from my left buttock. Then I leaned to the left doing the same on the right. This time I was more cautious knowing that it may be seen by the guests.
My heart was hammering hard in my chest as I repeated this movement from side to side as I carefully worked my knickers down over my bottom.
I felt a little less embarrassed as I felt that my knickers were now free from my bottom and could now more easily be worked down my thighs. I proceeded to do that and felt the fabric slide along the skin on my thighs.
For a while I was so occupied with moving my knickers that I was oblivious to the surroundings, but suddenly I was fully aware of what I was doing. I was sliding my knickers down my thighs. I was sitting in a restaurant, taking my knickers off.
The sensation caused a violent reaction in me. I blushed and felt embarrassment take a hard grip on my heart, squeezing it, making it hard for me to breathe. This overwhelming fear of doing something undoable was accompanied by a sudden and unexpected surge of something else. It was like an electric current that ran through me, from the skin on my thighs that felt the fabric of my knickers glide over it to my groin where it settled and seemed to spark. I realised I was suddenly and violently aroused.
This sense of arousal and shame increased when I slid the knickers over my knees and down my shins. I leaned forward, trying to act as inconspicuous as was possible. I was relieved that the corner of the restaurant was so dark and hoped that the waiter wouldn't approach us as I slipped my knickers down my feet and tried to pull them free from my shoes.
The sensation of removing my knickers from my body, feeling them leave my feet behind gave me a strange sensation of shame of doing something forbidden, a humiliating but overwhelming arousal and a kind of sadness for leaving a part of me behind.
I sat up, my heart beating, knickers a small ball in my right hand. I looked at him.
'Give them to me!' he said.
I had to lift my hand over the table and reach over it to give them to him. He quickly took my knickers and put them in his pocket.
He smiled but I was devastated. I had obeyed him and I was ashamed I had given in, that I had not struggled. But I was also relieved that I had surrendered, and aroused, terribly aroused.
'Now, my love,' he said, 'pull your skirt up!'
I looked at him. I suppose the fear was visible in my eyes.
'I want you to sit directly on the seat,' he explained.
I wanted to cry again. He wasn't done with me and I knew I had to obey him. There was no turning back now.
The sense of shame didn't change as I slowly lifted the hem of my skirt, and the arousal increased. I was shivering as I had to lift my body to slide the skirt free from my bottom and as I sat myself down I felt the coarse fabric of the seat directly against my skin. I felt naked. I felt exposed.
I arranged the skirt in order to make it look natural, as if I wasn't sitting directly on the couch. He knew I was naked under my skirt but I didn't want anyone else to know.
I worried that I would leave stains on the seat and for a while that was my main concern. My heart was beating fast and my cheeks were flustered and I could hardly sit still. I was ashamed and aroused and could not think of anything but my naked skin against the seat.
The dinner proceeded and we got our main courses. I smiled at the waiter doing my best to seem normal. I looked at my company and saw that he was pleased. He smiled at me and gone was the cruel headmaster and I started to relax.
Gone was the self assured lecturer, though, and sitting opposite him was someone else, a girl perhaps, or a woman who had surrendered to him. I felt changed but I didn't know how. I had surrendered to him. I had allowed this to happen and I had given in to his authority and the price I paid was to feel naked, exposed and vulnerable, ashamed and humiliated and very, very aroused.
He looked at me and I think he was pleased with me, and perhaps even proud of me. My heart started beating harder and I felt happy and proud. I had passed the test and I was proud. I allowed myself to be swept away by that sense of pride and joy.
We had our desert and our coffee and he paid and we left. I was happy to feel my skirt fall down and cover my knickerless bottom. I didn't look back to see if the seat was stained. I didn't want to know. I didn't want to have to think about that. It was his responsibility, not mine.
He didn't give my knickers back as we walked in the soft summer night through the streets back to his flat. I was aware that I walked by his side, naked underneath my skirt. With my dress covering my nudity I could almost enjoy it. I knew I was naked under the skirt and I was naked for him and that made me feel special. I had surrendered to him in a way I hadn't done before and despite the shame and humiliation I felt elated by it. it made me feel as if I had shown him, somehow, that I really belonged to him and in that moment I wanted to belong to him, more than anything else.
Thursday, 4 December 2008
I am fascinated by the reactions I got to my story Arrogance. I asked what you thought the title referred to. I am fascinated but not surprised that I got so varying replies. Someone suggested that Sarah was arrogant and another that the men were arrogant.
I don't know, but I suppose that those who found Sarah arrogant saw this as more of a traditional story where the arrogant female gets her well deserved spanking. That she had it coming and it was about time she was smacked for real. I don't say that it wasn't a traditional story but personally I find very little in her actions that speak of arrogance. Her disbelief and demand for explanations are what anyone would experience and do in her situation.
But the beauty is in the eye of the beholder and understating characters has its points. Did you notice that the young man was a very meek kind? Maybe he didn't deserve to be in charge and the arrogance was that his friend took it for granted that the woman should bow to the man in any circumstance?
There is no right and wrong. I am firm in my belief that when a story is written and presented to the reader it belongs to the reader as much as the writer. So, those of you who saw Sarah as arrogant have all the right in the world to do so. I don't mind.
This leads me (in quite a roundabout way) to another thing I wanted to say. Someone said about my Surrender story that they didn't know if they would like the man and another that the heroine wasn't very well described.
Both of those things have to do with understating and not describing. There is a great power in what is not said in a story, the point where the reader adds what they think.
Still I think the man is clearer than the woman but there is a reason for that too. She is the narrator and she is the one telling the story. Why would she describe herself other than pointing out certain features (which she does)? And would you really trust her if she told you what she thought about herself? I wouldn't. I do hope, though, that both characters will be clearer over time, when you see their actions.
Tuesday, 2 December 2008
Slowly I started to accept that this may be for real, that this gorgeous man really wanted me. I saw in his eyes that content I so loved and I saw it when he was with me. We talked of all and everything and we shared our views. He wasn't annoyed with having an opinionated girlfriend. He looked at me with pride.
My crush turned to love and slowly did I start to trust that those feelings were mutual. It seemed so easy for him but for me it took some time. I became happier and more cheerful and I was immensely proud of being with such a man. I was pleased to be seen with him. I felt blessed.
Part of me was blown away by him, immersed in his attention and preoccupied with him, another was still the professional woman I had been before. Not that the happiness I felt didn't shine through when I had my lectures, it surely did. It was more of a matter of me being still me, still the academic, the researcher and lecturer I was. This is nothing strange, most adult people see a relationship as an addition to their identity. I did too but the power of the emotions involved made me imagine it to change my life in a more profound and radical way.
This relationship did change my life profoundly but it happened gradually. One month in I was still very much the old me, although the old me in love.
I had noticed the way he related to me. I didn't think of it first but after a while it was obvious that he always was in charge. He always was the one who suggested where to go and what to do. I didn't mind, not at all. I felt relieved I didn't have to decide everything. I was always in charge, always. If I wasn't in charge of others I was alone and in charge of myself. It was a blessing to have him decide things. I enjoyed it.
It may sound strange that a woman like me, with a career, with a profession and some confidence in my role as the one in command would welcome a man like him, a man who opened the door for me and ordered for me at the restaurant. But it made me feel special, a princess and I hadn't had too much of that in my life. I had always been the one calling the shots and taking responsibility. Now I allowed myself to be led.
He obviously wanted it that way. He did it very naturally. I didn't know if it was part of him wooing me or something that just came natural to him. I didn't know and I didn't care. I took a day at the time and enjoyed being with him.
I struggled a little with a sense that I used him, let him give me something, attention and love, something I should give back, or at least match. Nothing in his ways suggested he saw it that way but I felt treated and spoilt and that I should at least be able to take some initiative.
There was also a hint of fear about what would happen when we really disagreed. We would eventually disagree about something and then what would happen? Would he be able to back down or would I have to do that. If I grew in confidence, my will would assert itself and I would fight for my beliefs and what would happen then?
I knew not then that I had only seen the beginning of the power of his will. I had only got hints of what he was capable of. Had I known, I would have been scared. But now I had only seen the blessings of being with him.
We had been together a month and a half and I was in love, madly in love. He was who he was and that was what I loved about him. I saw his smile, his enjoying being with me and that was enough for me. And sensing him desiring me.
I think he felt it time to take our relationship a step further. I could never understand how he thought about those things, if he planned them or played by the ear.
We went to a small restaurant, exclusive rather than fancy. He was dressed in black tie and was very smart. Seeing him like that made me proud of being allowed to show myself in his company.
I had dressed up for the occasion too, which really was him fancying taking me to this restaurant and then to the theatre. I wore a deep green satin dress with a wide knee long skirt. It was sleeveless and had a low cut but not really plunging neckline. I felt very glamorous in it, like a film star from the fifties. My hair was done in an elaborate bun which left my neck uncovered. I wore silver drops in my ears and a delicate and very beautiful necklace of silver and green stones which he had given me. The only thing that wasn't glamorous were my shoes. They were white ballerina pumps with black polka dots. I loved those shoes and I felt they fitted in with the rest.
We were seated in a small alcove at the back of the restaurant. We were not cut off from the rest of the guests completely but we were fairly secluded. This suited me fine. It gave me the freedom to concentrate on him.
We were having the appetiser and some wine when he looked at me with his sparkling eyes. I smiled at him out of the sheer joy of knowing I was beheld by those eyes.
'What would you do if I ask you to do something for me?' he said.
I thought the question a tad odd but I thought about it for a while and replied:
'You know I'll do anything for you.'
'Anything?' he asked.
'Yes, I would do anything for you,' I replied and meant it.
At that moment I really meant it.
'If I ask you to do something now,' he asked, 'will you then do it?'
'What is it you want me to do?' I wondered.
'Does it matter what it is?'
I sat pondering his words.
'No, it doesn't,' I said, 'It doesn't matter.'
'I want you to do something for me,' he said, looking into my eyes.
He didn't smile now. I nodded in reply. He looked at me a little longer.
'Take off your knickers!' he said.
I stared at him. I wasn't sure I had heard him.
He looked at me, seemed to scrutinise me, as if to assess my willingness to do his bidding.
'Take off your knickers!' he repeated.
'Because I ask you to.'
'Is this what you wanted me to do for you?'
'Yes,' he replied.
Words cannot describe what went through my mind at that moment. Part of me wanted to laugh at the joke, part of me got that it wasn't a joke, none of those parts understood what he was playing at. I felt my cheeks blush as I realised what it was he has asked me to do. And the thought of doing what he had asked made me cringe with embarrassment.
He had asked me if I would do something for him and I had said that I would do anything and I had meant it. He couldn't possibly mean what he said but I couldn't possibly go back on my words. If he really wanted me to take my knickers off I would have to do it.
'Do you really mean that?' I asked, hoping for him to start laughing.
'Yes, I mean it.'
It was impossible. I couldn't possibly take my knickers off. It was simply not to be done. That was for other women to do, not me. I was not like that.
A hint of annoyance appeared in my mind but most of all I felt an overwhelming embarrassment at the very thought. He couldn't mean it.
I looked at him and tried to figure out what he was thinking. He looked back. He didn't budge. He was serious but there was no hint of struggle on his behalf. If he meant it, it was a test of my resolve, if my words meant anything. I had said I'd do anything and if I really meant it, taking my knickers off was easy.
I felt a sudden flash of anger at him for not budging, for persisting in this silly game. I could ask him to do something else but that was a defeat. I had said anything and this was something he asked me to do.
I had to do it. I simply had to do it. I couldn't go back on my words. Embarrassment flashed through me as a red bolt of lightning. I had to do it. I knew it. My pride demanded it.
Thursday, 27 November 2008
Now, something completely different. I will now start serialising a rather long story. Mind you it is yet not finished but I have written quite a bit already. It is a proper story where I take time to develop the characters and the events unfold in a slow but steady way. There are no chapters and no parts so I will just present it in chunks of about 1500 words each. I will try to cut the chunks off where it seems natural but I won't take into consideration whether there are any kinky scenes in them or not.
So, here is the first instalment of the story called Surrender. The title will explain itself. There are no exciting scenes in this first post but if you read on there may be some of that later on. I will continue blogging normally on the side so not every post from now on will be part of the story but I will try to post them on a regular basis.
And, please, let me know if you grow weary of it.
He hit me between the eyes, directly between the eyes. I had no idea where he came from but suddenly he was there. He was a demon, who conjured up things in me I didn't know existed, brought out the worst and the best of me. I think he was a demon, a demon or a god.
He was handsome. He was good looking in a way that annoys you or makes you weak in your knees. But that was not all. Many men are handsome like that and very few impress me. I am not the one to pick and choose but I do look for something other than a pretty face.
He was handsome, that is true but he was also arrogant. He was an arrogant bastard and he had that steel hard gaze that threatens to intimidate you, the one that can make you feel like a little girl.
He didn't show off his strength. He didn't have to. On the contrary, he was extremely polite and gentle. His strength came from beyond that. It was of the kind that he brought with him from childhood, the one that didn't brag but just made him know that he had the right to be happy.
He had a very special smile. You saw it sometimes when he was talking or debating. It was the smile that told you he was enjoying himself. It was a tad arrogant but it was an introvert smile. It seemed to come from the heart.
It was that smile that decided it for me. I guess I fell in love with him but it didn't occur to me like that at first. What I felt when I met him was very different from what I had felt with other men. He seemed to just exist, to be there and intrude on my world and that was enough, enough to make him the guest of my thoughts.
How I met him is irrelevant. I think it was in the pub, with my colleagues. He was a friend of a friend. The important thing was that suddenly he was there and from that point he occurred everywhere.
He hit me between the eyes already at that first meeting but since I am as I am, I was angry about that. I felt intimidated in the way you feel when you have to admit that you fancy the most gorgeous boy in school and you know that he will never ever even look at you.
He was way out of my league but he looked at me and he smiled at me and he didn't leave my thoughts after that. I guess I was smitten in that very moment but when I walked home I was angry.
After that he was everywhere. He walked past me on the street and then we went to a café and then there was a lunch and even cinema and dinner. I came to like him during that time. He was dangerous, he could easily have made me feel ashamed and intimidated. I was vulnerable, had no defence. But he didn't make feel ashamed. He was kindness and gentleness with me and I started to feel that it was nice to be inside his bubble of confidence.
I wasn't a weak person. I knew who I was and I knew I was good at what I was doing. I could address an audience of hundreds and keep my head up and I didn't back down in the heat of a debate. I was strong in my own way. Perhaps this strength had scared some men away. I had made them feel uncomfortable.
I couldn't pretend. I was who I was and I acted in the only way I could. He was different. He was frightening in a way I had not felt before. I knew he could reduce me to a scared child if he wanted to. I stayed away from men like him. I didn't enjoy feeling vulnerable.
I was vulnerable, that was obvious. And perhaps we all are. Being with him was a leap of faith, trusting that he didn't hurt me. I felt naked with him in a way I wasn't used to, still I hadn't run away.
I didn't feel insecure with him. That was the miracle, and perhaps that is why I didn't turn and run. I felt him as a blessing rather than a threat.
I was happy those days. I felt it as if he saw me and I believe he did. I was blessed and I was in love. In a strange way I was in love but it felt very different from the other times.
I always fell violently and deeply in love and I sank deep when it crashed. No one was allowed to know how I felt, but I fell deep into darkness when it crashed.
He was different. It wasn't life threatening like it used to be. I was in love but he was of another kind. I was safe with him.
I don't know what he felt for me. I know he enjoyed being with me. That was easy to see and the way he looked at me made me know, not just think, that he cared for me. In his own unique way he cared for me a lot.
But it didn't seem for me to judge him or try to figure out what he felt. Being with him was a blessing and a grace.
Although I didn't really know what he felt for me there was no arrogance in his way of looking at me, in the warmth in his eyes, as he gazed sideways at me. He had that smile, that private smile that told me he enjoyed himself when he was with me and from him, that was the best assurance you could get.
And he desired me. That was thee great miracle. He was that kind of handsome man I would have expected would choose a more flamboyant woman than me. I was a lecturer, a researcher, not at all glamorous. I cared about my appearance and I felt I was vain in comparison with many of my colleagues. But I wasn't glamorous, not beautiful, not stylish or flamboyant. Still he desired me. At least he desired me enough to want to seduce me.
I desired him too, more than I had expected. He was handsome, well built, slim and yet strong. He was fit and moved well. I was surprised as I felt my knees become weak as I looked at him and how I blushed as he looked at me. I really wanted him to have me.
I expected him to want me and then forget me. I was prepared for it. Still I let it happen. I felt that for once I would throw caution to the wind and just let it happen. Tomorrow is another day, let it happen now!
I was apprehensive when it happened but he was strong enough to not let that scare him away. I was nervous over dinner as he looked at me. It was as if I knew he wanted it. Or maybe it was because I wanted it. I could do nothing. Either he would seduce me or I would go home untouched.
When we left the restaurant he kissed me and with that kiss he told me his intentions. There was no doubt any more. At least I thought so. He took me to a bar and we sat there for a while. I knew we were on our way somewhere else. I think the kiss had told him I would go with him wherever he went.
He asked me to come back to his place and I nodded consent. He smiled at me but this time it was not arrogance, it was reassurance I saw in it. I was reassured.
He was gentle and soft and a gentleman but he didn't hesitate. He unzipped my dress already in the hallway and let it slip from my shoulders. I wore my underwear to the bedroom and there my bra fell to the floor. He kissed me and he looked at me. He was still dressed as he sat me on the bed. He removed my shoes and then laid me down and removed my knickers. I was naked as he kissed me and I pressed my naked body against his clothes.
I was lying there naked on his bed as he undressed. Then he let me slip between the sheets.
He was in command but I wanted that. I wanted him to do what he wanted. I wasn't strong enough to take him for me. I had to be taken. It made me feel wanted and valuable and loved. I thought that love may not be involved but I wanted it still.
He was strong and selfish, yet loving and careful. He held me and caressed me and kissed me and had me. I wanted it badly and I let go of my fears.
Afterwards, I was relaxed, fulfilled and satisfied, yet there lingered a kind of sadness as I thought that such a man would move on after his conquest. I would let it happen, I was prepared, still it would hurt.
Nothing in the way he treated me afterwards gave any suggestions of his moving on. On the contrary, he started treating me as a girlfriend, as a partner. He took me to cinemas and restaurants and parties and gatherings and I was by his side and I was his.
Monday, 24 November 2008
Blogging means a lot to me. First and foremost it shows me that I am far from as weird and strange as I have imagined. It is a lot about that, to be honest. What I didn't expect was the response I got and still get. My blog is far from the most popular out there but it has allowed me to communicate with a lot of nice and interesting people and I know there are a group of you who keep coming back.
Blogging has boosted my confidence too. Your encouraging comments means the world to me. I reread my stories and of course I blush when I see some of it but sometimes I am really proud because I like what I see. Sometimes I live up to my ideal of writing what I want to read.
It is not perfect, I am sloppy and my stories would benefit from some more editing but that has also been part of if for me, that I shouldn't just blog stories I think are perfect but instead look at them and think they are alright and put them on the blog as they are. Had I not done that, I would still be editing the first ever blog post, believe me, I am hopeless when it comes to that. So having a blog that is not error free is an achievement in itself for me.
Two years is a long time and I feel I have achieved something. And this is thanks to you, Dear Readers, a great big hug and smile to you.
And don't forget to read the latest story now, the one before this post!
Saturday, 22 November 2008
Still it happens that these themes enter into my fantasies and sometimes it is the objectionable nature in them that makes me fascinated by them. It is often the unfairness or the inequality in them that thrills me. Think what you like, but I am not going to analyse this.
I don't know why I am so bothered with a disclaimer like this, no one would accuse a writer of crime fiction for condoning murder just because they write characters who happily kill each other.
So here it is, a real horror story, actually, but one that was quite fun to write. I am a little curious to know how you, Dear Reader, see Sarah, the heroine of this story, her character and what happens to her.
A young man and a young woman is walking on the path to the front door of a big house in the countryside. She is dressed in a white shirt and jeans and ballerinas. She has dark hair, that falls to her shoulders, she is of smallish build, slender and is quite delicate. She has a slightly worried expression on her face.
The man is half a head taller than her, slim and has long arms and legs. He is blond, wears his hair shortly cropped. He has a narrow face and blue eyes and he looks worried too, but his expression seems to show insecurity rather than concern.
'Who is this person, anyway?' the woman says.
'His name is John and he is a good friend.'
'The way you talk of him he seems to be your guru rather than friend.'
'He is wise, I care about his advice.'
'Is that why we are here?' the woman says, her voice trailing off.
The young man is silent.
'Is it?' she repeats.
'Sarah,' he replies, anxiety in his voice, 'I want him to meet us and talk to us. That is all.'
'So he can see how we are and give us advice?' her voice sharp.
'It hasn't been that good, lately,' he says meekly.
'What has he told you?'
'Calm down, Sarah, he just said he wanted to meet us. A social call, nothing more.'
'I don't like it at all,' Sarah said.
'You'll like him, I'm sure.'
The couple had come to the door and knocked on it. They stood in anxious silence and waited. After a while there was a rustle behind the door and finally it was opened.
A man stood in the doorway. He was as tall as the young man but looked stronger. He had short dark hair and a square face. His eyes were grey but sparkled as he looked at the young couple.
'Mark,' he exclaimed, 'come in! And this must be Sarah.'
He held out his hand.
Sarah looked at him and smiled a very cautious smile and took his hand.
John conducted them to the kitchen and sat them down by the big table. It was a rustic but neat kitchen and although the furniture and equipment were simple it was clean and well kept.
'I thought we should take tea before we begin,' John said.
'Begin?' Sarah said looking just a little provoked.
'Sarah!' Mark said.
John ignored her and began to prepare tea and sandwiches for them.
Tea and sandwiches were nice but Sarah appeared to to be more and more annoyed since John kept on ignoring all her remarks and Mark seemed all too impressed by him.
Sometimes John addressed a direct question to Sarah and then he listened with attention but otherwise he showed no signs of listening to her. This increasingly bothered Sarah since she noticed that John listened carefully to everything Mark said.
They spoke of ordinary things and when John asked something of Sarah it was about her work and interests and such things.
When tea was finished, John cleared the table and turned to the young couple.
'Shall we begin?' he asked with a smiling face.
'Begin what?' Sarah exclaimed.
John ignored her and looked at Mark. When he nodded John indicated that they should follow him into the parlour.
The parlour or living room was spacious and very cosy. It looked more like a library with plenty of bookshelves. There was a fireplace and an old rug, some armchairs and a great dark wooden table with four high backed wooden chairs.
'Mark, take a seat!' John said and indicated one of the two armchairs that were placed in front of the fireplace were a small fire was crackling.
Mark looked insecure but sat down in the armchair. John sank down in the other armchair.
'Sarah, sit down, you too,' John said and pointed to a footstool by the side.
Sarah was dismayed by the idea of being allocated a seat without a back while her boyfriend got the cosy armchair. She found it very impolite of John to take the other.
'What is this all about?' Sarah asked.
'Be quiet!' was the reply she got.
John's voice was sharp and Sarah was quite taken aback by the harshness in it.
'I want to know what this is all about,' she said, not letting John silence her.
'Be quiet now!' he said again, sounding more annoyed than angry.
'I am leaving,' she said, holding back her anger.
Sarah stared at John, her face had changed from anger to fear. She was silenced for the moment. She reluctantly sat down on the footstool.
'Listen Mark,' John began, looking intently at the young man, 'it is good that you came to me with your problems. I believe I can help you.'
'What problems?' Sarah asked but was silenced when John looked at her.
'I think I can be of help,' John continued, 'I can't solve your problems but I can provide you with some tools you can work with.'
'What tools?' Sarah blurted out.
'You'll see,'John said and smiled.
'What are you?' Sarah continued encouraged by for once getting a reply to her question, 'are you some sort of therapist?'
'Shut up!' John snapped.
John turned to a sideboard and took from it a wooden hairbrush. Mark and Sarah stared at him.
'This is a good tool,' he said, 'it will not be the answer to all your problems but it is a start. I will show you more tools later.'
Mark nodded and glanced at Sarah with a worried expression on his face. Sarah stared at the hairbrush in disbelief.
'To begin with you should use this every night, for a week,' John said, still turned to Mark, 'then you could start using it when it is called for.'
'What is this?' Sarah's voice sounded puzzled and a little alarmed.
'You see, Sarah,' Mark said, looking anxious, 'John's methods are a little unorthodox.'
'She will find out soon,' John said to Mark.
'John, will you please, tell me what is going on?' Sarah said.
Now John turned to her and smiled.
'Soon, Sarah, dear, soon.'
He then turned to Mark.
'You can take her in your lap, like I have shown you, and spank her for a quarter of an hour.'
Sarah stared at John.
'Apply the brush with some vigour, don't be shy, you need to get the message through.'
Sarah stared and her face showed an expression of disbelief and disgust.
'It is important that you bare her for it, this makes her take notice better.'
'Are you two mad?' Sarah cried.
'Be quiet!' John said.
'I am off.'
Sarah rose but before she had time to move John turned to her.
'Sit down and don't make me have to tell you again!'
His voice was quite matter of factly and this made Sarah stop short and sink down on her seat seemingly quite deflated.
'Take the brush and smack her every night for a week and then you should use it only when you think she need it.'
'When is that?' Mark asked meekly.
'Whenever you have had a row or when she is moody or grumpy or when she talks back.'
Sarah shook her head.
'But having meet Sarah,' John continued, 'I am not sure the brush will be enough. Most women get the message but in this case you may need something more intense.'
'And there is always a need for something more intense, even if the brush is enough. If the woman needs an extra dose.'
Sarah and Mark stared at John as he rose to his feet and walked over to a cupboard. He opened it and they saw that on the inside of the doors there hung a multitude of items. There were canes and riding crops, and wooden and leather paddles. Some of the items looked strange and unusual but they all looked menacing to Sarah.
He took out a cane and swished it through the air. He walked back to the armchair, swinging the cane in the air. When he came back he let it land with a sharp report on the seat of the armchair.
'Are you serious thinking of...' Sarah said but she was interrupted by John talking to Mark.
'This is the cane, and it can really pack a punch,' he said, 'and I can assure you that a woman will take notice, especially if it is applied on naked skin.'
'Isn't it a little brutal?' Mark asked.
'It will hurt but that is the point, isn't it? To make a point and show her what happens if she don't stop.'
Sarah stared in disbelief.
'Are you saying it is all my fault?' she said, 'I can't believe what I am hearing. This is mad.'
'Sarah,' John said, turning to her and looking at her intently, 'I am going to say this only once. A woman needs to know where the boundaries are and what happens if she oversteps them. A woman not kept in line causes all sorts of problems and it is better for all if she knows the consequences of her actions. This is all I have to say, in the future the brush and the cane will do the talking.'
Sarah just stared at him.
'Mark, I can see that you are a little uncertain about the cane but I can assure you that it is a necessary tool. I'll show you.'
Mark stared in amazement at John.
John turned to Sarah.
'Come here Sarah!' his voice was determined but quite soft.
Mark stared in amazement as Sarah, without a word, rose to her feet and approached John. She moved with hesitation but she did it with no protest.
'Now you will do as I tell you,' he continued, 'understood?'
'Understood?' he repeated.
'Yes,' Sarah said meekly.
John walked over to one of the high backed chairs and pulled it out. He turned it round and put it on the great red rug.
'Now, I want you to kneel on the chair, Sarah,' he said, 'facing the back of it.'
Sarah moved gingerly towards the chair, cast an anxious glance over her shoulder towards Mark and hesitantly climbed the chair.
Mark was astonished by this glance and was not sure he had interpreted it right. He imagined he didn't see defiance in her eyes but almost a question, as if she was seeking his approval or his support.
'Now, Sarah,' John continued in his determined but soft voice, 'I want you to unbutton your jeans.'
Mark blushed and Sarah gasped but she did unbutton her jeans.
'Pull them down to your knees!'
Sarah reached out and took hold of her jeans and with some effort pulled them down from her bottom. She worked them slowly down from her hips and down her thighs until they were gathered around her legs mid thigh.
'Further down, Sarah.'
She reached back and pushed her jeans further down.
'Sarah, listen carefully now,' John said.
'I am going to do something I believe your Mark should have done a long time ago. I will do this for instruction, for both of you. For him to see how it is done when he will do it himself and for you to know what awaits you and what will help you keep in line. It is good for you to know what will happen should Mark, in the future, see fit to punish you for various reasons or just because he wants to make a point. Sarah, I am going to cane you. I am going to give you some good strokes with the cane on your bottom. It will hurt but that is the intention. It is supposed to hurt. This is not a punishment but an instruction. It will hurt and it will hurt badly. It will hurt you even more since I will give the caning on the bare. Do you understand?'
There was a moment of silence.
'Yes,' Sarah said, her voice trembling.
'Good,' John said, 'now, pull down your knickers!'
Gingerly Sarah grabbed hold of her knickers and pulled them down from her bottom. Mark gasped as he saw this.
John held out the cane and gently put it on Sarah's bottom. She reacted as if she had been stung by a bee. She tensed her body and held her breath.
'Sarah, are you ready?'
'Yes,' she replied, 'I think so.'
'Good, take a deep breath and this will be over in no time.'
John withdrew the cane, waited for a very short while and then let it fly. Mark jumped as he heard the menacing hissing of the cane through the air followed by the sharp report when it struck the buttocks of Sarah. It was the ominous sound of cane against soft skin, the sound of pain.
Sarah seemed to be hit by lightning or stung again by a bee. She drew her body up, held her breath, shivered a little and then let the air out of her lungs. She shook her head as in disbelief and then she started to squirm.
It appeared to Mark as if Sarah was overwhelmed by the effect the cane had on her. She seemed to not really comprehend what had happened to her, that she had been hit, that she was being caned.
A welt was forming across Sarah's soft and fair bottom. And when John, once again, placed the cane against her skin, close to the shining welt, she whimpered.
Sarah contorted her face and squealed as the second blow hit her across her bottom, close to the first. She didn't scream but she squirmed.
The third blow came quickly after the second and Sarah jumped. She gasped and seemed to be struggling for air. She shook her head and trembled.
'Sarah, you are doing fine,' John said, 'I will give you three more and then I will be done for now. Take a deep breath!'
Sarah really took a deep breath but whimpered as John put the cane across her bottom once more.
She didn't scream and she didn't protest but Mark could see that she was in a lot of pain and that the last three strokes was a read ordeal for her. He didn't know what made the greatest impression on him, the sheer brutality of the caning or the fact that Sarah took it without arguing.
'Very good, Sarah,' John said, encouragingly, 'you are doing well, I am proud of you.'
'No, don't step down! There is one thing more for you.'
She looked alarmed.
'Come here Mark! I want you to try this.'
'No, please,' Sarah said, 'don't let him do it.'
'Why not? He is the one who will be in charge of your discipline. He will do it many times. I want to see that he gets it right.'
Mark rose from the chair and approached Sarah and John with an expression on his face that spoke of both fear, anticipation, eagerness and relief.
He took the cane John handed him.
'You can stand here!' John said.'
'How did you do it?' Mark said as he moved to take his position.
'Do what?' Whip her?'
'No,' Mark said, 'no, I meant, how did you make her do as you told her.'
'Dear Mark,' he said, chuckling, 'that is easy. I just told her. A woman will do anything for you if you only tell her with authority, anything.'
'Now, place the cane across her buttocks, to take aim!'
Sarah moaned a little as she felt the cane touch her bottom.
'Give her three whacks, now, but take your time.'
Sarah held her breath as the cane left her.
The stroke was not as distinct as the ones John had delivered but it still hurt Sarah and she jumped. It had hit her high on her bottom.
'Good,' said John, 'but aim a little lower next time. You should avoid, at any cost to hit her across the lower back, never come close to that. It is better you hit her across her thighs. Aim here, at her sweet spots!'
John touched Sarah low down on her bottom and she gasped and squirmed.
The next blow was right on target and Sarah drew her breath. Mark looked at John and seemed to be asking for confirmation.
'Much better aim. Next time, put some force into it. She won't break.'
The last of the three was, indeed, the hardest Mark delivered but it missed Sarah's buttocks and hit her high on her thighs and she cried out.
She squealed and moved about.
'Well done!' John said, 'isn't a woman's bottom lovely when it wriggles about like that.'
Sarah didn't hear Mark reply to that but she was sure he agreed.
'Now, Sarah,' John said, 'you may come down from the chair and you may adjust your clothes.
Flustered and with wild eyes, Sarah climbed down from the chair and pulled up her jeans and knickers. She gasped as the fabric of her clothes moved over her newly caned bottom.
'I think this is enough for today,' John said, 'there is no need for socialising now, go home, if you want and practice what I have taught you.'
Mark nodded and Sarah stood in silence. She regarded him with a subdued gaze.
'John, thank you for helping us,' Mark said.
'A pleasure,' John replied, 'and I got to meet your lovely girlfriend.'
'See you later.'
Mark turned to Sarah.
'Thank John now, for what he has done for us.'
She gave Mark a defiant look. John raised his eyebrows in appreciation of what Mark had learned.
'Thank you,' Sarah said meekly.
'You can take the hairbrush, that is easy to keep in a bag. You wouldn't want to carry around the cane. But I will help you buy one that will suit your needs.
John took the hairbrush from the table and handed it to Sarah.
'Shall I take it?' she wondered in earnest.
'Yes, Sarah, I think it is only proper that you should carry the tool for your improvement.'
Sarah sullenly accepted the gift and held it in her hand. She had left her bag in the hallway.
'See you later,' John said, 'and good luck. Don't forget to do what I told you.'
'You mean, spank Sarah with the hairbrush?'
'Yes, every night for a week.'
'Can I really do that?' Mark said, 'I mean, after today?'
'You can, but it wouldn't be wrong to wait a day and start tomorrow. She will feel this caning for some time. But tomorrow, start with the remedy.'
'Yes, we will.'
John escorted them to the hallway. Mark seemed a lot more cheerful, as if new hope had been found in his heart. Sarah looked baffled and was flustered but said nothing.
They said their goodbyes and left. John stood in the door and looked after them.
To his great satisfaction he saw them leave his house hand in hand.