Surrender, part 9

I am a little lazy, I know. I will follow one part of the Surrender story immediately with another but maybe you will forgive me, there is some action in this part.

Then he struck.

The sound was terrible, sharp and unforgiving. The pain exploded in me. I think I held my breath, clung to the chair, struggled with my sanity, trying to accept what was happening. It hurt so much, more than I could imagine.

He waited for me to compose myself. I shook my head in disbelief. I was overwhelmed with the pain, the humiliation and the power of him. I knew, deep down, inside me, that I had a choice. I could rise from the chair and just walk away. That would end it there and then. He wouldn't stop me.

I trembled as I stuck my bottom out again, to receive the next stroke. I had made my choice and there was no going back.

He hit me again and I regretted offering my bottom for the cane. I had never ever in my life felt something this painful. I didn't cry, I didn't scream but I held my breath. I had to use all my willpower to compose myself.

When I stuck my bottom out for the next whack I knew what I was doing. I knew how much it would hurt, how mad I was to do it, to accept it. It was now a matter for my will to endure.

My determination to take the punishment, his punishment was stronger. I stayed in place. I had to let go of everything else and only concentrate on the next blow of the cane. That was all that existed, the cane that relentlessly whacked my bottom and the searing pain. That and my will to survive, to go through with it.

He gave me blow after blow. He let me compose myself before the next one fell, before the next one exploded in my body. It broke me down. I endured but I struggled and there came a point when I thought I would lose that battle.

He pushed me further, he continued whipping me and suddenly I broke down, tears filled my eyes and I cried out. I felt I couldn't take one more of his terrible whacks.

'Please, please, I can't take it, please.' My voice was weak, pleading, no pride was left.

His voice was strangely soft as he talked to me.

'We are not done yet, some more to go, for now.'

He gave me two more and then I pleaded with him again, overcome with agony, feeling I couldn't stand one single blow more.

'Brace yourself, here comes the next,' he said, almost with pity in his voice.

He gave me some more whacks but he prepared me for each of them by talking to me. I clung to his voice. I let him pick me up so I could take the next one.

I was grateful for his encouragement. My tears were streaming and I shivered as I knelt and stuck my bottom out.

'Now, there are eight more to come.'

Instead of being scared or hateful I was happy, I could, now, see the end of my ordeal.

He gave me the eight in silence and I counted them in my head, almost longing for the next so it would all be over.

He told me to stand and I climbed down from the chair and stood on trembling legs. I felt like a long distance runner after the final spurt, I was sweaty and my body was aching, my bottom felt numb, warm and numb.

'You did well,' he said and looked sternly at me.

I looked at him through my tear filled eyes. I didn't know what I was thinking of him then but he was different, in my mind he was different, well known, like someone I had always known but also a stranger, a terrifying avenging angel, someone from another world. I stood in awe.

He took a step forward and put his arms around me. I clung to him, I leaned my head against his breasts and I started to cry. I cried with abandon at his chest while I was held by him, my naked body pressed against him. I felt his clothes against my skin and I felt how different we were; him clothed, me naked, and how unequal and unfair it was, but at that moment I felt a blessing, as if there was a big grace in this.

Was it for this I had endured all this? Was this the reward for the caning, the humiliation and the agony? I felt him close to me and I felt blessed and it seemed as being held by him was something that was worth all the rest, that it was for this I had returned.

When I had calmed down, he held me with his arms, looked me in the eyes. I looked up at him.

'This will do for now, you did well, you were brave.'

Two emotions hit me with equal power. I was immensely proud hearing his words. I felt as if I was a child again and had been told I had done something scary and how good and brave I was and I felt happy as only a child can be. At the same time I heard that it meant that this was not the end of my punishment. There was more to come and this filled me with dread.

'Go home now, this has been a lot for you.'

I nodded.

'I will tell you when to come back. The same rules apply, about clothes and not touching yourself.'

When he told me not to touch myself I realised that he hadn't touched me in that way for ages, not the whole evening, not even a kiss. I felt how my body ached, how terribly, painfully aroused I was.

He watched me as I put my clothes back on. In a way I was glad I didn't have to put any knickers on, sensing that my bottom was too sore for that.

He didn't say anything as I dressed and when I was done I looked at him. He looked at me.

'Goodbye, thank you for taking me back.'

'You did well, I am proud of you.'

I smiled as I left. I smiled as I walked home. I was in agony and my head was in turmoil but there played on my lips a faint smile. I was proud of myself.

When I came home I stripped off and felt a new significance in my nudity. He had ordered it and I did it for him and now it was not just a humiliation, it was also a blessing.

I was exhausted and went straight to bed after taking a shower. I fell asleep immediately, lying on my side, not allowing anything to touch my bottom.

It was different in the morning when I turned and woke up with a throbbing pain in my bottom. It felt like an open wound and in the cold morning light my state of mind seemed like utter madness.

I got out of bed and looked at my bottom in the mirror. It was in a sorry state. There were raised welts criss crossing my buttocks and my whole bottom was red and blue in places. It was not a pretty sight.

I wouldn't be able to sit on it for some time. I had my breakfast standing and wondered what was going on with me. Was I being brainwashed? How could I let a man get so much power over me? How could I let someone whip me?

I was ashamed, felt stupid and silly. I felt as if I was losing myself in all this and that I needed a reality check, talk to someone to see how true this was for me, if it would just vanish like some demon of the night.

But who could I talk to? Most people would turn him in to the police and even my closest friends would question my sanity. And in addition I was so ashamed that I couldn't stand the embarrassment.

Still I knew I had to talk to someone.

Work was agony. I had some meetings and sitting down was a nightmare. I was fidgeting and moving about all the time and had to compose myself and concentrate to be able to keep still. I wasn't very useful at the meeting.

One thing happened some time into one of the meetings. As I sat there struggling with my sore bottom I thought about the day before and at first I blushed with shame and embarrassment but there was also something else. I thought about my aching behind and how he had made it like that, how he had wanted it to be like this. He knew what he was doing. He knew today would be hard for me.

The strange thing was that instead of cursing him for his cruelty I felt a sparkle of joy in my heart, sensing his presence in the soreness, as if he was present, with me there in the meeting.

I felt a new kind of courage to endure the pain. I felt as if I should not try to avoid it. Instead I should endure and let it be. I relaxed, calmed down. The pain was still there but it had a purpose, it made me belong to him.

When I had dressed that morning I had chosen between two acceptable skirts. The one I had been wearing the night before and another one. Both were black and proper and suitable for my work but the second one was some inches shorter. Remembering his words about my clothes I took the second one.

Wearing a skirt without knickers made me feel naked and the shorter the skirt the more exposed I felt. Those few inches made me feel quite naked. It was still a very proper skirt and nothing would show even if I tried to pick something up from the floor but I was still fully aware of how naked I was underneath it.

However embarrassing it was, being with no knickers there was another sensation I couldn't deny. All kinds of nudity had double meanings for me. Mostly I was embarrassed, feeling exposed. I had always been like that. But there was also another sensation, something that was more private. Being exposed made me feel aroused too, being watched made it even clearer to me. Those sensations always went hand in hand, I was both embarrassed and aroused.

I wasn't terribly aroused, not mad with desire, that wouldn't have been me. It was more like a little tingling in me, a kind of thrill I got from undressing. I had felt it as a kid, although I hadn't connected it to anything sexual then, not knowing what sex was.

When I grew older and more aware of my body and the sexual tension between girls and boys, being naked or undressing became a source of both terrible embarrassment and a kind of private and very secret joy. At the beach, dressed in bikini I felt how I blushed if I thought someone was looking at me. The very thought of them seeing my body made me cringe with embarrassment but also feel that tingling in my body.

Going to my college with no knickers under my skirt brought those feelings back to me. I felt like a kid, doing something naughty and forbidden and I was genuinely embarrassed but there was also that sense of silent arousal.

The fact that I had not been allowed to touch myself for a long time made that sense of arousal to an agonising sensation. I felt how I desired to touch myself, to give me relief but I knew it was part of my punishment and however silly I felt, I wasn't prepared to disobey him.

I survived that day and I went home, stripped off and had my dinner standing in the kitchen. I was wondering about myself. A part of me shouted in my ear that I was going mad, I was accepting something that no woman should put up with, abuse and violence. But at the same time I was there, standing naked, following his orders meticulously.