The good thing with writing and getting things off your chest is that it becomes less important, it starts to fade and you hope it will soon go away. I wrote about something that bothered me, you read it, Dear Readers, and I am grateful. I am beginning to leave it all behind and I even feel a little silly for making such a fuss about it. I guess it means it isn't as important any longer.
Enough of that. Here is the fifteenth instalment of the story of a poor woman's journey into submission (we can assume...smiles).
'Do you know what I want to do now?' he asked as he pointed to a dark green top with spaghetti straps and a black, straight and very short skirt, I should wear.
'I don't know,' I said as I donned the clothes, feeling relieved I was allowed to dress.
I continued dressing, casting a glance in the mirror wondering if I ever would be comfortable in a top like that, that clung to my body and with bare shoulders, not to mention a skirt that showed half of my thighs.
He rummaged through one bag and presented the wooden spoon.
'No, you can't be serious.'
'Ah, you know I am serious.'
'But what have I done?' I was baffled by my own question. I had begun to thing like him, that he could use those things on me, to punish me.
'Nothing, really, this would be for fun.'
'Don't fret now.'
'I don't think it is fun.'
'Does that really matter?'
I looked at him and wondered how he managed to combine the childish joy of shopping 'sexy' clothes to me with the steel hard conviction that he could spank me just because he wanted it. He really meant that my objections didn't matter. I had thought he cared about me, and maybe he did, but that would never be allowed to interfere with his desires.
Soon I found myself leaning over the big oaken table, as that first time, that day when he spanked me and set something in motion I felt I wasn't sure I could control any more.
'Good girl,' he said and stirred up rebellion in me. In that moment the thought of being spanked wasn't as horrible as his mocking me for accepting it.
I stayed in place. I didn't rebel. I let him work the tight skirt up my hips. His hands on my hips made me shiver with delight and I was shocked at sensing how much I longed for his touch.
Something happened in that moment that terrified me more than anything that happened before during that day. He stood a while and did nothing, waiting. My skirt was around my hips and I assumed he stared at my knickerclad bottom. I was wearing a silken red pair he had bought me that day. I knew him enough to know that he enjoyed the sight and I was pleased with that, pleased and embarrassed. But it wasn't until he put his hands on me again and pulled my knickers down I felt how much I had wanted him to do that.
I trembled with a sudden surge of excitement. My cheeks flashed as I felt a wave of arousal run through me. I was intimidated by the sense of being aroused by him shaming me like that. I felt cheap but couldn't help enjoying it.
The worst thing was that the added shame of knowing he did it, he bared me, to make the spoon hit harder. That cruelty, only contributed to the sense of arousal.
I didn't enjoy the smack he gave me with the hard wooden spoon. The sense was quite different from the cane. The pain didn't sear through my soul as much but I surely felt it. I jumped and squealed. I had just time to collect myself when he smacked me again.
He didn't spank me for long, in total it may have been a dozen of them but they were quite hard. I was overwhelmed and confused by the mix of sensations. The initial arousal clashed with the sharp and sudden pain of the spoon hitting my skin and I was shocked by the sheer power of the smacks. He did it for real, he put some force into the whacks and they hurt, profoundly and what terrified me was how ruthless he was when it was 'just for fun'.
Still I felt he knew what he was doing. He would never harm me, never cause damage to me. He whacked me good, knowing how much it hurt me, but he would never do it to harm me. I trusted him with that.
'Are you going to try all of your toys on me?'
He chuckled at that.
'No, my dear, not tonight. And they are not my toys, they are your toys.'
'I thought toys were for having fun.'
'I am having fun.'
When I rose and straightened my skirt I looked at him. He looked at me with a kind of curious expression on his face. In that moment I saw how immensely attractive he was. I stared at his eyes and wanted to drown in them. I wanted his lips to kiss me and his strong arms to hold me, to crush me in their embrace.
I remembered how he had groped me on the landing, long time ago and I got a strange image in my head of him pushing me against a wall, or the bonnet of a car, ripping my clothes off and ravaging me. In that flash of a moment I wanted to be ravaged.
It went and I came to my senses but it left a craving that murmured deep inside me. I had never in my life wanted to be had as much as I did in that moment. For me, sex was something I wanted when it happened, when I was being touched in the right way and in the darkness of a bedroom, when I gave in to the sensation of being close to a lover. Now I felt it while I was dressed, staring at a man.
Instead I helped him cook. He was making pasta. This man was excited by anything Italian or French. I preferred East Asian food but I had to admit that the Carbonara he conjured up was nice. I admired him for making something ordinary like that taste so good. But I dreamt of cooking for him something I really loved.
'You are an arrogant bastard, you know that?' I said as we sat down to eat.
'Yes, I know that.'
'You have made me do things I never thought was possible.'
'Is that a good or a bad thing?'
'I don't know, I am not sure I care, maybe I do. A little bit of both.'
'A big bit of both.'
'I am proud too, you know', he said, 'you need to boost my ego.'
'Do I do that?'
'Yes, you do.'
'I know I am an arrogant bastard, but I like being one.'
He chuckled as he continued eating the pasta he had prepared.
'I am exhausted,' he said as he sat down in his armchair when the dinner was over, 'but I don't think it is time for you to rest, just yet.'
I looked at him.
'Here,' he said and tossed me a thin green scarf, 'put this on!'
The scarf was very thin and flimsy and had some golden threads weaved in its fabric. It was so thin that you could look through it.
'Not like that', he continued, 'around your hips, I wanted your red one but this will do, it is a nice colour, don't you think?'
I tied the scarf around my hips, like I had done with the red one. This meant I didn't spread it out but collected it as a band, not more than four inches wide that encircled my hips, just below the hip bones. I knotted it at my left hip. This meant the scarf embraced my body, around my lower belly, way below my belly button but above my sex. It was more like a belt worn very low.
When I was done I stood watching him. He didn't speak. He waited. I waited.
I saw in his eyes that he waited for me to do something and I wasn't completely sure what it was. I remembered his references to the red scarf which I had tied around my hips in similar way.
I kept staring at him as I reached for the top and gently slipped it over my head. I then unbuttoned the skirt and wriggled it down my hips. Lastly I slipped off my knickers and arranged the scarf so that it hung in its right place.
I saw he was pleased. This was what he wanted of me. He wanted me naked, dressed only in this flimsy scarf, a piece of cloth that didn't even cover my sex.
I said nothing.
'Stand still now!'
'Straighten your back', he continued, 'push your bosom out, put the weight on your left leg. That's it.'
I stood and let him watch me.
'You are beautiful. How delightful it is to see your nipples bead, see that lovely body shiver. I love your sweet belly.'
He sat in silence for a while.
'What would you think if I invited some friends, and had you wait at the table, dressed like that?'
'You can't be serious.'
'Imagine I am!'
'I won't do it.'
'You said you'd do anything.'
'But that is silly, they would wonder.'
'Don't worry about that', he chuckled.
'I would be dead embarrassed.'
'I know, but would you do it?'
'I still think it is silly and stupid and horrible, but I would do it. I have said I would do anything.'
'Good, I like to hear that.'
My heart was beating hard at the prospect of parading through his flat clad only in a scarf that didn't even cover my sex while he entertained guests. I thought that he seemed to be the man who knew people who could enjoy such a thing.