Surrender, part 5

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.