Surrender, part 8

I am a very self critical person. I am also very selfish. I write because I enjoy it, I write because I need it. I blog because it has become a way for me to express myself and not be totally alone. I do it for me. I am utterly and completely selfish.

Having a blog that others read and being self critical is not easy. If I think that I could only blog what is good I would edit and edit and edit again and nothing would be published. I have to stick to the idea that I blog because I want to share what I have in my head.

To have readers means the world to me. It means that we share, at least you share my thoughts and you get the chance to share yours. Still I write for me, for my own very selfish reasons. Sharing is the reward, the blessing that comes with it.

I am saying this because I got a comment yesterday that infuriated me. An anonymous person wrote something that made me understand that they didn't like my blogpost. That is not the issue. No one has to like what I write. But what made me angry was a remark they made: '...as though it's supposed to hold my interest'. This person didn't just tell me they thought my writing was bad in a quite rude way but they also implied that I was writing to satisfy them and thus had failed.

My stories are like my children. They are mine and they mean everything to me. But you don't have to like them. It hurts when someone says they are 'sleepy' but I am prepared for that. I take the risk and I welcome critique. It is I, after all, who put them out in the public domain so I am not expecting any mercy.

But I will defend them with everything I have got if anyone says they are failures. How can they be failures when success and failure are not issues on this blog? They are my stories and scribblings and they are what they are. They are not attempts to evoke this or that sensation in the reader. They are my thoughts.

Now to the story. I suppose some of you will be angry with me for cutting it where I did but I think smaller chunks are better. I will continue, soon.

'Do you know what I want?' he said.

'You want me to obey.'

'Yes, that is true.'

'You want a woman at your feet.'

'I want you at my feet.'

It seemed as if my heart beat an extra beat at his words. He wanted me back, he wanted me at his feet. I felt like two people sitting there, one was calm and collected, listening to the conversation, saying things, participating in a game that seemed both strange and absurd, the other was different, she was like a little girl, a young woman without sense or thought, staring in admiration at this man, much older and wiser than her, a man she found immensely attractive, unexplainable fascinating and overwhelmingly powerful and whose words she soaked up as a sponge and who could turn her head with a gesture of his hand.

'Are you ready to be punished?'

'Here?'

'That is not an answer to my question.'

'I am ready to be punished.'

In a flash I saw for my inner eye how he would have me lean over the table and spank me, there and then, in the café, with my skirt raised and my bottom on display.

'You know it will be harsh?'

'Yes, I know.'

'That spanking I gave you will seem like a caress.'

I shuddered.

'Do you know what a cane is?' he continued.

I nodded.

'Do you?'

'Yes, I do.'

'What is it, then?'

'Something you use to whip people with.'

'Yes, that is correct. And when we go back to my flat I will use the cane on your body, as a punishment.'

'Yes,' I said and looked down.

The thought of the punishment, the punishment I had known about for three weeks, had become very real in a sudden. Now I knew what it would mean.

I thought about the spanking he had given me. It had hurt but I wondered, in my heart, if not my pride had been more hurt than my body. It had been painful but when I thought about it I was more upset by the fact that he had spanked me than the smacks themselves. When I remembered them now they seemed to burn in my soul, burn of humiliation and shame.

The cane was something else. I had no real understanding of what it meant but I imagined it to be something brutal, something immensely cruel.

We didn't speak more at the café but rose and left. My legs were trembling as I walked by his side. I felt dizzy and weak and walked with a strange detached feeling. My heart was pounding as I went to my punishment as a sheep, a creature without a will of her own.

When he opened the door to his flat and I was ushered in I felt as if I was entering another world. I had been there before, I had even knelt naked in the hallway but now it felt like something else, something new and terrifying.

I looked around his living room and it seemed as I had never seen it before, never noticed the Persian rug, the comfortable sofa, the red armchairs. The oaken table seemed strange and unfamiliar with its six high backed wooden chairs. I saw it with new and different colours, as if it was newly decorated. Yet I knew I had seen it all before and admired it, thought that he had good taste and the money to indulge in it.

'Go and get the cane, it is on the sideboard.'

I turned and looked at the imposing armchairs and the little sideboard between them. I froze as I saw the cane.

I walked over and picked it up. It was a sturdy stick, hard as steel. I took it by its handle and walked back to him.

'Hold it for a while. This is the tool I will use on you for your punishment.'

I held the cane in my trembling hands. It felt like something living, like something evil, something that meant me harm, something I wasn't allowed to hold.

'Please, will you take it.' I said and held the dreaded thing out to him.

'Place it on the table!' He indicated the great dinner table.

'Do you know what you are doing here?'

'Please, will you just punish me?'

'Do you know what you are doing here?'

'I am here to be punished.'

'But do you really know why you are being punished?'

'Because I didn't obey you.'

'That is correct but do you know what it entails, letting me punish you?'

'You are taking me back?'

'Yes, but what does it mean to be back with me.'

'That I will have to obey you.'

'Is that what you want?'

'I don't know.'

'What do you want from me?'

'Please.'

'Answer the question!'

'I want you to love me.'

'Are you prepared to obey me then?'

'Yes.'

'And be punished when you fail me?'

'Yes.'

'You know that things have changed between us?'

'Yes, I know that.'

'Take your clothes off!'

Now it was for real. I didn't even hesitate. I moved my trembling hands to my shirt and started to unbutton it. I moved as in a dream.

He looked at me. He gave me no mercy. His gaze made me aware of my actions, made me know I was undressing in front of this man. I had done it before, mostly to be touched and loved but also to beg him to take me back.

Now I was burning with shame as I parted the panels of the shirt and let it slide from my shoulders. I held it in my hands and looked round for a place to put it. He pointed to one of the armchairs so I took a step towards it and placed my shirt on the armrest. I was wearing a simple cotton bra and I wondered if I should take that next or the skirt.

I had no knickers under the skirt so I decided to start with the bra. In my strange state of mind I was fully aware of how odd those thoughts were, that I should be preoccupied with the order I was undressing.

I unhooked the bra and let it slip from me. I placed it on the shirt and looked up. He was staring at me and I was overcome with a sudden flash of embarrassment and had to struggle back an impulse to cover my breasts.

I then unbuttoned my skirt and stepped out of it. I folded it, placed it on the rest of my clothes and subdued a desire to put a hand over my sex.

I had never undressed for a punishment before and the shame I felt at preparing myself for this utter degradation seemed to run through my body like a cold wave. I wanted to scream, to run, to turn and flee, to struggle with this man and overcome him.

I stepped out of my shoes and stood naked before him. He looked at me, let his gaze move up and down my body. He seemed to like what he saw but I didn't know if he found me attractive or if he just enjoyed my humiliation.

'Now, take the cane, hold it in your right hand, handle up and the rest of the cane pointing to the floor.'

I picked up the cane and held it as he had instructed.

'Now, stay there and wait for your punishment.'

I was bewildered. I wasn't to be caned at this moment. I had stripped naked and prepared to be punished and now I had to wait. I wanted to sit down and cry. This was too much, to horrible.

He didn't seem to care but turned and walked out into the kitchen. I heard him rummaging around with something while I stood there, naked, holding the cane trying to fight down my will to protest, to say how unfair this was.

I reasoned with myself and was baffled by my logic. I had, after all, accepted to be punished and if he wanted me to wait, I should wait. This part of my reasoning seemed to accept the absurdity of the situation without a second thought. Still, the calmer me, the rational me, saw how foolish I was, how stupid I was who stood there, to attention, naked, holding a cane in my hand, a cane that soon would be used on my body.

The familiarity of the sounds from the kitchen felt menacing in my predicament. I realised that the man was making tea. He used to take a cup of tea in the evening and I thought it was time for that now.

He came out from the kitchen with a tray. He set it down on the sideboard and sat down in the armchair, the one I hadn't put my clothes on.

I stood there as he had his tea. I stood in a way so I couldn't look straight at him. I cast a glance at him now and then and I saw that he looked at me. He looked pleased with himself. This made me feel intimidated. I wasn't just stupid and very naked, I was weak willed and had bowed to him without protest.

At last, he was done with his tea and I felt my heart start beating harder as he approached me.

'Please, give me the cane.'

I held it out to him and I felt relief as he took it from me.

'Now, will you take that chair and put it where you are standing now, the back facing away from me.'

The chair was heavy but I could still lift it without problem. I placed it as ordered and stood back.

He looked terrifying with the cane in his hand.

'You know that cane will hurt, it is a tremendous instrument, sharp and painful.'

I nodded feeling dizzy again.

'You see, I want it to hurt, it is a punishment and it is supposed to be painful.'

The calmness with which he spoke of caning me made me fear him more than ever before. I wondered what devil stood before me. I hated him in that moment. I dreaded him.

'Will you, please, kneel on the chair, with your back towards me.'

His calm voice was like an insult, like a burning slap on my face. He didn't have to kneel naked to be caned. He could just be there and whip me. It was easy for him, easy and unfair.

My body moved as if I was beyond thinking about the fairness of the situation. I didn't even hesitate but climbed the chair and knelt on it. The hard surface hurt my knees and it was not easy to find a position that wasn't unbearable.

'Stick your bottom out.'

I closed my eyes and held on to the back of the chair with my numb fingers. I took a deep breath and stuck my bottom out.

He placed the cane against my buttocks and I froze.

'This will hurt.'

I nodded.

'You see, I want it to hurt, I want you to suffer.'

I had to struggle to hold back my tears.