Tuesday, 15 January 2008

Another Evening

I am back with another story. I thought I would write one of those, 'you have been naughty, you deserve a spanking, smack, smack,' stories. So here it is, a scene of domestic bliss of the kinkier kind. There is a reference to some contemporary music in this story. Have fun!

'You are late,' he said looking at her sternly.

'I am sorry,' she said, panting, putting down her bag inside the door, 'the traffic was horrible.'

'You could have started earlier,' he said looking grim although she could discern the tiniest of glimmer in his eyes.

'I couldn't leave work earlier than I did,' she said looking a little desperate as she took off her coat.

'Very well,' he said with a little smile on his face.

'I knew you would understand,' she said and took a deep breath and smiled.

'But you know what this means?'

'You can't,' she said.

'Can't I?' he replied.

She stopped short, looked at him, saw in his face that he was, indeed, serious.

'But the traffic,' she said.

'Don't mind the traffic!'

'It is not fair.'

'Don't mind fairness!'

'You mean it?'

'You know what it means,' he said.

She knew. She knew very well what it meant. And she knew there was no arguing, no discussion to be had. She knew what she had to do and she did it. Now she stood by the armchair with the cane in her hand, waiting.

She handed him the cane when he approached her and she started unbuttoning her jeans. He said nothing as she slid them from her hips, down her legs with a wriggling of her hips.

He stared at her amazed by the smoothness of her movements. He was fascinated by how she could make the simplest undressing to a sensual and arousing dance. His heart was beating faster.

She blushed as she pulled down her knickers and felt them slide over her skin, revealing it. She felt the impact and meaning of this, how she was revealing herself, how she was baring herself for him and his unfair punishment. Dread mixed with a soft a warm sensation in her body.

He looked at her as she positioned her body over the armrest of the comfy chair. She was naked from her waist down to her knees, her nakedness seemingly out of place in their living room. She had done this many times before but he still liked the sight of her placing herself in position for her punishment. He enjoyed watching her perform this act of obedience. There were no pleading, no protests. She was just doing it.

She felt the armrest against her naked body and felt as naked now as every time she did this. It was a familiar sensation but she thought she would never get used to it. It still meant that dreaded thrill of humiliation, that sense of degradation, that surreal feeling of her helping with her punishment, accepting it by doing as she was told. She felt her heart beat a little harder as she felt the impact of this, the meaning of it. She accepted her punishment and she gave herself to it. She accepted his punishment and told him he could do it. With her single movement she told him he could go on.

The paleness of her skin, the softness of her skin, made her look vulnerable. He could not imagine how anyone could want to harm something this delicate and beautiful. Yet he held out his cane, his cruel and hard cane and he knew that he would do it. He would let it fly and let it hit her tender skin. He felt a little dizzy as the thrill of it, the cruelty of it, dawned on him. He felt how this thrill, this amazement about his own cruelty, transformed into a red hot sensation that ran through him. He was as amazed as every time before. It was always new.

The touch of the cane against her skin made her draw her breath. She was overcome by a strange sensation of inevitability. This was happening now and this was the moment when she gave herself to him, his cane and his cruel punishment. This was the time when she paid for what she had done, when she was punished for her transgression, fair or not. This didn't matter any more. This was the moment of her surrender.

He was always terrified by the sound. He could never remember the sound. It always surprised him. He felt a surge of excitement and dread run through him as he heard the sound of pain, the sound of hard cane swishing through the air and then the sharp report when it hit her tender skin. That was the sound of cruelty. And he was always scared of and amazed by how much he liked it, how terribly wrong it was of him to like it.

The pain was always new, always unbearable, always terrible and impossible. And then, when the first shock was over, she remembered that strange sensation of realising she had survived, she had endured. This time, this whack, she had survived. And then the impossible thought of another one coming and that sense of being utterly helpless and not knowing how many and for how long. That fear of this being too much, too horrible. The horror of surrender.

He looked at her as his cane hit home, how the sound seemed to travel into her body, make it stiffen, make her draw her breath, then come back as a red stripe on her tender skin. He was fascinated by the contrast, the pleasure he felt, the sheer joy of caning her and how painful and utterly unbearable it must be for her. And then the grace he was blessed with.

She was overcome by her surrender. She felt a strange calm, a strange and unexplainable joy, the joy of surrender, the joy of giving herself over to someone, something. The pain was not less unendurable, not less painful, but she was more determined, she was more herself, more complete. She could now give in to come what may. She surrendered.

He got this strange idea that his cane was a touch, not pain but a touch and that it somehow connected them. He thought this strange. He imagined it an excuse, an excuse for his cruelty, his excuse for enjoying being evil.

He was there. He was there with his cane and she thought it odd that she so could enjoy his presence when he was causing her pain, when he was doing this to make her suffer. And suffer she did. She knew it was her suffering and her body that endured and he was strangely present in her ordeal, not as the devil who made her suffer but the one being with her in her suffering.

'Stand up!'

She scrambled to her feet.

'You may dress.'

She pulled up her knickers and jeans, this time with less grace as she felt the coarse fabric slide over her throbbing bottom.

He looked at her as she moved away from him, into the kitchen. It was her turn to cook and a mere caning should not change that. He looked at her and was amazed that this wonderful creature let him do this to her and how she even seemed to enjoy it. How could you possible enjoy it? He knew he enjoyed it and for the moment his guilt was gone. Things was as they should. He was content.

She walked gingerly away from the living room, sensing every step as something scratching her raw bottom. She felt his presence indeed. She felt herself punished. She didn't care if it was fair or unfair. She felt that he had asserted himself and become a little clearer to her eyes. She felt his presence on her smarting bottom and she smiled to herself feeling a little more loved and little more seen and touched. The order had been established and she felt she wanted to be were she was. She let him rule but she knew the land was hers.


Manorlord said...

Janice, this works on so many levels... The characters' thoughts, personalities and relationships are fleshed out (so to speak). Their mysteries are intact, but we see glimmers of the workings inside...
The undressing is breathtaking. The caning is vivid. I like this VERY mus=ch, and am returning to reread...

Paul said...

Janice, this is very good, the feeling is spot on.
Thank you.
Warm hugs,

wilhelmina said...

Oh Janice you have outdone yourself with this. That we get to 'hear' the thoughts back and forth between them both is wonderful, it keeps the connection very strong between them. With each stroke they are both together on it whether it is spoken of or not. This connects them on a deeper level and I also enjoyed that they both had the doubt, guilt, fear, desire amongst many other emotions that carried them through everything.

Oh and the reference is Dido's This Land is Mine.

Simply beautiful my dear friend.


Janice said...

Dear Manorlord, thank you ever so much for those words. I know what praise from you means. I am glad that it worked.

Dear Paul, I believe you know what you are talking about and that means it is good for an amateur to capture something of it...thanks.

Dear Mina, goldstar for you, yes, it was Dido. Brilliant song. I am fascinated by the mix of feelings I assume are involved in something like this. I am chuffed that you liked it, it means a lot.



Ollie said...

That was a fine story Janice.

The "You've beed bad - bend over " story is often very dissatisfying because the authors think that it is the actual beating which is important, but you have shown each side of the transaction from within their minds.

I particularly liked the way we saw their thoughts alternately, and the way he was so confused about this cruelty he was causing, yet he liked it.