I am much more clever than you may think. There were a lot of things I chose not to tell in that last story, just to see how you reacted. Not that I know that much now, but it was still fun. Never mind, writing is not about being clever but about stories. Here is the next part of Surrender.
'How I would love to keep you here in my flat, in my bed. But you will have to wait. There is a bit left of your punishment and we will take that the next week.'
'I'll do anything for you.' I smiled at him.
'This time I almost believe you.'
'You don't have to abide by the rules.'
'Oh, thank you.'
'But I want you to do one thing for me, every evening.'
'Yes, of course.'
'Strip naked, and light a candle, and sit down in front of it. Kneel and spread your knees wide. Open your body and sit like that for a while. Remember how attractive you are and how desirable that body is. Do that for me!'
'Yes, I will, as you instruct.'
He laughed at the formality in my words and I had to giggle.
'Do you know why I was so particular about the skirt rule?' he said on the Wednesday, the next week when I had returned for the final part of my punishment. I had taken the same skirt as last time the slightly shorter of the two modest black ones.
'Because you want me to feel exposed?'
'Ah, that is true, but only partly so.'
'I don't understand.'
'You are such a child at times. Did you get anything what I told you in front of the mirror last week?'
'I don't know.'
'What did you get?'
'That you think I am attractive.' I felt how I blushed.
'And why I want you to wear a short skirt?'
'Because you think it looks better.'
'Why does a short skirt look better than a long?'
'Yes, more you, more of your body is there for me to look at.'
'I don't think you do.'
I looked at him in bewilderment.
'No,' he said, 'I am a selfish bastard and I think women are attractive, I think you are attractive. I think your body is attractive and I want to see more of it. I want you to wear a short skirt because I, the selfish man I am, like to see more of your body.'
'You are cute when you blush. Take your clothes off so I can cane you.'
I was a little taken aback by his sudden change of subject. I hesitated for a second, then I began to strip off. I was amazed how easy it was, how hard it was.
There was no hesitation when I had started but his words of wanting to look upon my body burned in me. I wasn't stupid, I knew that men wanted to look at women but I couldn't imagine it was my body that attracted any of them to me.
As I knelt for the cane I was apprehensive and terrified but there was also a kind of elation that sprung from the knowledge that this was the final part of my punishment. Soon it would be over, the worst part would be over.
I was stronger this time. I began to cry after a while but I had the strength to compose myself and he didn't have to help me as much as the second time.
This time he took me in his arms as I stood on trembling legs after having climbed down from the chair. I pressed my naked body against his clothed frame and I felt both naked and very small in his embrace.
'Stay with me,' he whispered in my ear, 'stay with me tonight!'
I nodded, tears streaming from my eyes. I wanted to be with him.
I looked at him, I had to tilt my head backwards to see his face. I looked at his face and wondered about the man. He had strength and determination. Or was it just me who was weak? I felt a strange kind of admiration for him. He had whipped me, he had not hesitated. He had demanded that I bowed to his will and he had whipped me.
I could hate him, hate him for being cruel, hate him for being a devil, a selfish bastard, bent on having me as someone to rule. I was never ever again to be his equal, it was too late for that. I had accepted to be whipped by this man. I was never to be a princess with him, not a royal woman, worthy of respect. I was something else for this man, a woman, a body, a slave. I didn't know. I could hate him for that too but I didn't. I admired him and at this moment I basked in the sunshine of his attention.
He dressed me in a silk dressing gown, that caressed my skin. He sat me down on a cushion by the table and gave me food. He cooked for us and we had our dinner. I began to smile. I felt like a teenager or a child who had been on a long bike ride and was exhausted but proud of my achievement.
And when he led me to the bedroom, sat down and had me stand before him while he slipped the gown from my shoulders I felt attractive. His gaze on my body made me feel like I was beautiful. I saw in his eyes that he was proud of me.
He was gentle, thought about how sore my bottom was, gentle but determined and managed to have me in a way that satisfied both of us.
I fell asleep on his shoulder, happier than I had been for a long time.
In the morning I made us breakfast and I served it on the bed. He smiled and seemed pleased with me. For a while I felt like before, like I hadn't been whipped, hadn't knelt to this man and stripped at his command.
I knew that he would not compromise. He had made that clear. Staying with him would be at his conditions and I wasn't sure what it entailed. What did it mean to sit at his feet? What did it mean to obey him? I knew what would happen if I didn't.
I went home to change clothes before leaving for college but before I left he turned to me.
'Come back tomorrow, we'll start your training then.'
My cheeks were flashing as I walked home. 'Training' he had said, as if I was some subject of his, a trainee or an animal. Pride reared its head and I wanted to tell him I was a lecturer, a tutor and I didn't need any training.
I thought a lot about what he had said about skirts and showing of bodies. I knew he desired me, but I still couldn't understand it. It was still unbelievable. I had never been a woman who thought she was beautiful.
As a woman I thought about my appearance, how to look good and present myself. I liked clothes and was quite confident in my choices. But I knew I looked upon myself differently from other women. I knew many women were attractive to men and they knew it but that sort of thinking was a stranger to me.
I could see what it was that made them attractive. I could see that they were attractive, I felt it myself. I knew how they did it, how they showed a little bosom, or a bare midriff, or a tight top or a short skirt. But it had never been for me. I knew how to look elegant and stylish but I never dared pretend to be sexy.
I had always been amazed by young girls who browsed through the bathing suits and could hold up a tiny bikini and think about what it would look like on their own bodies. They wanted to be sexy, they wanted to show off their bodies. They enjoyed the attention and were confident that a certain bikini would give them that.
He wanted me to wear a shorter skirt because he could see more of me. That thought was shocking and new to me. The rational part of me knew I shouldn't be surprised, that I played a prim and innocent fool but the thought still was revolutionary for me. It was like a part of me that had been dormant, that had been rationalised into a desire to look right, to be proper for my job, look professional and elegant. I was baffled by how naïve I was.
As I walked to his flat in the evening I wondered what he would think of me. I was wearing a striped top I loved but thought to be a little too revealing as it clung to my body and I had donned a dark green, straight skirt that was rather short, one of the shortest I owned.
I blushed as I thought how my bare and skinny legs were on full display and I wondered what I looked like. My thoughts went back to my walk of penitence, the green summer dress and what it had looked like. I hadn't been wearing any knickers then and I had taken the dress off in the stairwell. I felt ashamed.
He had talked about training and I wondered what it meant. Was I to be trained by him? For what? What was it I was supposed to learn? To sit by his feet?
He was happy to see me. He smiled at me, hugged me and kissed me. I melted in his arms. His embrace was the sweetest thing and when he held me I truly believe I could do anything for this man.
He stood back and looked me over. He smiled that private and introvert smile I had come to love. Did it mean he liked what he saw? Or was he just amused at my pathetic attempt?