Tuesday, 13 January 2009

Surrender, part 7


You will have to keep track of which story you read now. This is the seventh instalment of the Surrender story. I feel I should say something but I won't. The story speaks for itself, I hope.


What had I done? What had I started? This was utter madness. My whole head rang with warning bells, telling me what a fool I was and how I had humiliated myself. My whole rational being cried out in anger at my utter stupidity and how I had degraded myself because of a man.




I cringed at the memory of walking through town dressed in a short dress, only. I blushed and shook my head when I thought of how I had stripped off in the stairwell, how I had knelt and begged him to take me back. I was ashamed of myself.


Yet I sat there in my kitchen having breakfast, naked. I had not worn any clothes since I stepped into my flat. And now I sat here, obedient, doing as I was told. And the worst was that I liked it. I was ashamed but I wanted it.


When I dressed for work, I put on a skirt but I didn't take any knickers. I blushed as I stepped out into the sun and walked to the university naked underneath my skirt. And I was happy. That was the thing I couldn't explain.


In the common room I was aware how naked I was under the skirt. It was fairly short and it rode up my thighs. I crossed my legs and remember after a while that I was not allowed to do that.


My reaction was strange. I blushed violently and uncrossed my legs. I looked around as if anyone had seen me break this rule, as if they would know it was a rule. I struggled with guilt and wondered if I would tell him I hadn't been completely obedient. I knew, somehow, that I would tell him, tell him and take the consequences.


When I got home I was in a strange mood. I felt elated and my heart was beating lightly in my breast. I felt my cheeks flash. I was a mix of feelings. I felt guilty for crossing my legs and stupid for wanting to obey his rules. I was scared of being punished and wanted it to be over and done with. I was happy for being taken back and intimidated by his demands.


And I was aroused. I was terribly aroused. That was worse than anything. I knew I wouldn't disobey that rule. That insight made me tremble and wonder what had become of me.


I disrobed when I entered the flat and I felt silly. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw a naked women, plain and nothing at all, naked and ordinary. Still I felt good for doing as I was told.


I shook my head at this, how my mind had changed, how my mind had accepted the idea of a man deciding those things. It wasn't right. I knew that. It was wrong in all possible ways and yet I did it, yet I obeyed.


He didn't call to let me know when I was to be punished. I walked in my flat like a caged animal, worrying about what lay in store for me.


He didn't call for many days and my evenings were spent in waiting. I sat naked in my flat, watching stupid quiz shows and American sitcoms. I sat naked in my sofa or at my kitchen table. I tried to read. I tried to avoid touching myself but the mere thought made me terribly and achingly aroused.


I became anxious and annoyed, frustrated and angry. I told myself, time and again how stupid I was, how I should just dress and stop being such a meek and weak person. How I should stop humiliating myself and become a grown up, a responsible person again.


Still I never dressed, still I never touched myself. I didn't cross my legs and I didn't wear knickers, my skirts were short enough and I did nothing but wait.


When he finally phoned, on the Tuesday of the third week I wasn't even glad to hear from him. I was so frustrated that I almost started to cry but I was also too angry to let him notice it.


He told me to come to his flat, Thursday evening. He didn't specify a time and he didn't say anything about dress.


I was frustrated I still had to wait two days but now I knew the wait was soon to be over. I was happy for that, happy and angry.


I had dressed in a white shirt and a black skirt, no stocking, no knickers and simple black flats when I went to him. The skirt was very modest, quite short, a palm's width above the knee.


Butterflies were fluttering wildly in my belly as I waited for him to open the door. I was nervous, I was scared, I was angry and frustrated.


Something happened to me when he opened the door. He didn't smile but I saw he was pleased to see me. His face made my mood change in an instant. It was as if I had been struck by lightning.


I looked at him and I knew I wanted to be where I was, at his door, hoping to be let in. My anger vanished, my frustration seemed to change. Still with me was my fear and my anxiety but something else struggled for a place in my heart. I can't put a name to the warmth that seemed to grip my heart, run through my body and make my cheeks flush but it overcame me and I felt suddenly weak and helpless as a child.


He admitted me and I entered his flat. I stood in the hallway waiting for instructions, waiting for him to take command. I felt that things between us would never be the same again, the premises had changed. This was uncharted land and it scared me no end. Still I was there, not running from it.


He told me we were going to Carfax café, the place we so often had visited. I was a little surprised. I had braced myself for a punishment and I knew that it may mean pain.


We went to the café like any other couple and sat down at a table. He had his espresso and I had my tea. We didn't speak. We had sat like this so many times before, with our coffee and tea. Many times we had laughed and debated, argued and talked. Now we were silent.


I wasn't just the young professional out on a date, I was someone else. I didn't know who I was but I knew he had said I was to be punished. The humiliation of the mere thought of a punishment traversed my body and I blushed.


'You know why you have come to me,' he said.

'Yes,' I replied, my voice weak.

'Tell me, then!'

'Not here, people may overhear us.'

'Tell me!' He stared at me.


I had gone through this so many times in my head. I knew he would take command, I knew he would demand things of me, I knew it would be hard. Still I felt awkward, unprepared, unwilling to comply. I looked at him and knew I had to tell him, had to obey.


'I have come to be punished,' my voice a mere whisper.

'Why are you being punished?'

I looked at him in a sudden flash of anger and embarrassment.

'I am being punished for not obeying you.'


He looked me over, his eyes still dark. He was still the stern headmaster.

'Do you want to be punished?'


The question hit me like a punch in the stomach. Did he want me to say I wanted to be punished? I didn't want to be punished. I was prepared to be punished. There was a universe of difference between them.

'I am prepared to be punished.'

'But do you want to be punished?'

'If it means you will take me back.'

'It is a means to an end?'

'Yes.'

'Good.'


'Do you know the end to those means?' he continued.

'I am not sure. That you will take me back?'

'Do you know what it means to be back with me?'

'No,' I said and I felt how I almost started to cry, the tension overwhelming me.

'What do you want?'

'I just, I just want you to love me.'

I felt suddenly completely deflated, exhausted and very, very tired.


'Have you done as you were told?'

'Yes.'

'Have you only worn skirts?'

'Yes.'

'Have you been wearing knickers?'

'Please, keep your voice down!'

'Have you?'

'No.'

'No, what?'

'I have not been wearing knickers.'

'Have you been naked in your flat?'

'Yes, always.'

'Have you touched your sex?'

'No,' I tried to whisper.

'And your skirts?'

'They have been above the knees.'

'I am disappointed.'

'Why?' I felt my heart starting to beat violently.

'That skirt.'

'It is above the knee.'

'Yes, indeed, but I would have assumed you knew why I wanted you to wear short skirts.'

'To make me feel exposed.'

'Right, and yet you choose the longest, least exposing skirt that are still true to the letter of my demand.'


I sat in silence. He was right and I felt the rage of being proven wrong live in my breast. He was right, I had chosen a skirt that was the most covering I could think of but still according to his orders.

'I felt exposed.'

'I wanted you to feel exposed.'

'Yes, I understand.'

'Yet you choose that one.'

'I am sorry.'



6 comments:

Paul said...

Janice, submission can be like a drug, a drug that is both loved and hated.
Your Dom is very harsh which both repels and attract.
Perhaps that visit is her punishment?
Interesting!!!
Love and warm hugs,
Paul.

TFP said...

Great writing, very enjoyable.

Thank you...

Manorlord said...

The pacing of this series is excruciating ... but I mean this in a positive way. You are describing the journey into submission. For our heroine, the path is long and twisting. She considers turning back, but is drawn too the goal (which she comprehends either fully or, perhaps, not at all!)

So often the only point of a story is physical punishment, which the writer cuts to as rapidly as possible, on the flimsiest (or no) pretext. Punishment, like sex, is fascinating in itself but heightened by the foreplay, the build-up. Submission is not only about punishment, of course, just as being in love is more than sexual intercourse.

So, yes, take your time...

Spanking OTK said...

Hi, you have a very nice blog here. If you like we could exchange links betwen our blogs. Please, let me know!!!

Best Regards

Mina said...

Great episode Janice. I loved this part, "My whole rational being cried out in anger at my utter stupidity and how I had degraded myself because of a man." Something I have been thinking on a while. Hmm, it's surprising what we do for love or even just to be loved even if it isn't necessarily returned.

I felt for her when she confessed she wanted him to love her.

I agree with Manorlord, the pace is excruciating yet perfect. I love to see her unfold like this.

Hugs
Mina

Janice said...

Dear Paul, I think you put it well, a drug. I wanted it to be hard for her, not at all easy.

Dear TFP, thank you.

Dear Manorlord, I thought I should allow myself to take my time with this story. I like it how you put it: '...which she comprehends either fully or, perhaps, not at all!'

Dear Spanking OTK, sure.

Dear Mina, thank you for the comment. This vulnerability we experience when we care for someone is really what this is about. I do wish for a happy ending though, that the love is returned...smiles.

Hugs

Janice