Monday, 2 March 2009

Surrender, part 14

I gather some of you will find the pace a bit too slow. You will have to live with it.

I stayed with him, in his flat that night. I was his equal and he was gentle with me. He talked to me, listened to me, saw me and loved me and I felt happy.

I wondered about his demands, his will to power, his desire to control me. I saw very little of that during the evening but I noticed that he never, ever let go of his command of the situation. Although I was as his equal I was never his superior. The normal ebb and flow of in an interaction, the changing between being active and passive, dominant and held back always stopped with him being always the active and dominant.

On the Friday he took me to a restaurant. He was the perfect gentleman and I was his perfect date. We talked and we laughed and got a little tipsy.

I knew then what I loved about him. I loved that he was that unrelenting force that never ceased. He was the ever active mind, always attentive but always in command. I relaxed in that and remembered that I had loved that in him from the first day.

I was beginning to understand that his power, that power that had made me strip and kneel, that had mercilessly whipped me was just an extension of that which I saw in him always, at the restaurant, with friends, with me, in any situation I had seen him in.

I began to feel that I had in me a longing I had not dared to admit, a longing that I believe had been with me since childhood, or at least as long as I had known him. It was the soft spoken but relentless desire to give in to an overwhelming power, to let it sweep me away and carry me to vistas I had never visited.

Was the whippings and the training, the wearing of the clothes he choose, the stripping naked of me and the sitting by his feet part of that power or was it the price I had to pay to be blessed by it.

We went shopping on the Saturday and I was a bit apprehensive, both curious and frightened he would buy something horrible for me to wear, something vulgar and raunchy.

He put my worries to rest although there was a fair bit of embarrassment for me. He bought me some skirts, a couple that was black and very sober for my lectures. He thought them to be far better than the ones I owned since they were at least a couple of inches shorter.

He found some tops he liked, they were all body hugging, quite tight and some too short for my taste, one or two had quite wide necks but there were no really plunging necklines. I had too small breasts for that.

We bought some dresses and he proved he had good taste by buying some that were quite pretty, although he was very enthusiastic about a very, very short black one that had spaghetti straps and clung to my body. It was way too skimpy for anything I would ever have chosen.

'You are not supposed to enjoy shopping, you are a man,' I said when he enthusiastically scampered down an aisle on his way to the underwear.

'But you know,' he said, 'boys like buying things for their toys, and you are my toy.'

It was a joke, I knew that, but I thought in my heart that he really meant it. I was a toy for him, perhaps I was not one he would toss away soon but still a toy.

There were no buying of bras since he had decided I didn't need any so he went directly to the knickers department. He declared that although he liked my girly, silly ones he thought that I needed sexier knickers.

They were all too small and mostly black and red or both. I sighed and wondered if I wouldn't look like a porn star after all. I blushed to a deep red when he decided on some string knickers.

'Have you any idea how uncomfortable those are?'

'You are not going to wear them to be comfortable, you are going to wear them to please me.'

Those words could have been quite menacing if he hadn't smiled like a big happy child. He truly enjoyed this.

His eyes were shining as he dragged me too the swimsuits. Once again he avoided the vulgar and ugly but had no scruples about tiny ones.

I was already exhausted when he continued in among the kitchen utensils. He browsed the shelves and picked up a rather large wooden spoon. It was made of wood from some endangered rain forest tree and felt very heavy in my grip when he let me hold it.

'This I want you to have, he said, 'I will use it when I come visit.'

'Are you going to cook for us?'

'Ah, we'll see, but I am sure some raw meat will be involved.'

He chuckled to himself as if he had delivered a really brilliant joke.

At that moment I didn't get the meaning of the spoon. I did get suspicious when he bought a fish slice and a cheese board with a handle. When he found a bath brush and a very heavy hairbrush I was quite upset. I knew then that he was buying things to spank me with.

I was completely convinced when he went into a shop and bought a supple but hard riding crop.

I turned to him with a sense of being both intimidated and frightened. Most of all, I was offended by the assumption that he would need to use them on me.

'There will be no need for those, I won't be that disobedient.'

It was still strange to take such words in my mouth.

'Don't worry,' he said,'I quite enjoy it regardless.'

He smiled a very smug smile but I could also see that he truly enjoyed this. There was no menace in him, just a childish joy.

I was both worried and amazed that the thought of spanking me made him this happy. What kind of man was he? He showed me another side of him this day. I saw the childish, enthusiastic side of him, that seemed to be far removed from the stern person who had demanded to cane me. Still he spoke openly of spanking me.

My heart melted when I saw him like this and I felt I didn't want to deny him. In that moment I would have said yes to anything, just to see him this happy. Still there was no weakness in his joy, no sense that I could patronise him or reproach him for being childish. He was himself enough when it came to his moods. I already knew that.

I had had a hunch that the shopping would be heavy so I had brought a rucksack. Still we had a multitude of bags and packets to carry.

He took me to a pub and bought me a glass of wine and told me I had been very good and patient with him. I knew then that I could never patronise him, he was the one doing the patronising.

He called for a taxi to take us home to his flat. He told me the things was for my flat but he wanted me to try everything out at his place first. I wondered with a churning in my stomach if he meant the wooden things as well.

All this was something new to me. I had gone shopping with women before and my friend Sarah had always provoked me to buy things she said I would be sexy in, things I never ever used. But to have a man tell me I should wear this or that and being completely open about why he thought I should, was nothing I had ever experienced before. I was terribly embarrassed and cringed with shame but there was a part of me that was pleased and happy about the attention, having someone tell me what was right and what didn't work and who really cared and had a plan for me.

I think he cared about me. He was open and blunt in saying that he was completely selfish, it was for his own satisfaction I should dress in this short skirt or that clinging top. I believed him but there was such a warmth in his eyes and such happiness in his smile that I felt that I was someone he cared for and that it mattered to him that I was comfortable too.

Not that it stopped him from embarrassing me. He obviously thought that this was something I had to work through. He seemed very pleased with himself when he got me to blush. Not that I sensed any malice just some naughty joy in making me cringe.

So, there in his flat, we went through skirts and tops and dresses and he smiled and approved or said that one or two wasn't what he had expected. Often those were the ones I thought I would have chosen.

He got really enthusiastic when I showed him the bikinis. There were only three and they were all skimpy. I had to admit that he showed some kind of sense still. They were all revealing but not vulgar. He had gone for low rise string side bikinis with triangular tops, the kind that works with small bosoms. One, a black one, had string briefs and I told him I would never wear that to a beach. He said that I shouldn't be so sure about that.

It was the same with the knickers, which he demanded I tried on without anything else. They were tasteful although too tiny for my liking.

After this shopping spree I ended up with a set of clothes that were quite good looking but clothes I would never have dreamt of wearing myself. They were far too elegant and, perhaps, too sexy for a person like me.


Meta said...

Just because you're not writing about anything physical doesn't mean it's too slow. I'm still enjoying this story. :)

Manorlord said...

The difference between pornography and erotica is that the latter takes the time and effort to establish moods, develop characters, explore nuance and generally use art. The former is all & only about the so-called payoff, be it sex or spanking or what you will.

Unlike pornography, erotica requires an investment by the reader -- this in turn requires an attention span.



Paul said...

Janice, I loved this section, I'll bet she did also.
Not in the least slow or boring.
Warm hugs,

Janice said...

Dear Meta, I am glad for your comment. I think I worry too much...smiles.

Dear Wystan, I am not sure where this definition fits in but it is interesting all the same. Not sure, though, where my writing fits in. I can assure you I don't think in genres when writing.

Dear Paul, I think you are right, it becomes something different for her now, not altogether painful...smiles.



Mina said...

Dear Janice, the story is progressing nicely and I look forward to more.