Something New

And not something you haven't seen for a while, a brand spanking new story from me, written today, for you. Well, for myself as well, but you know what I mean. Someone said something in a comment which made me think of this story. I didn't write it to prove him wrong, on the contrary, he is probably right.

And the title is ambiguous...you get it?

I had been late for our lunch date, she had every right to be angry. I didn't mean to be late but it happened that way. She was angry. I think I have never seen her this angry.

Angry is not the right word. I hate to say it but she seemed hurt. Although there was anger, as well, a lot of it. Not the kind that shouts and screams and behaves, no, the held back kind, the kind that is contained by gritted teeth and tensed muscles.

I felt guilty, I always do when I manage to hurt her. Still I felt intimidated when she said she would punish me when we got home. I didn't know what she meant but I knew she was serious with it, that she would do something.

I was apprehensive when I opened our front door, later that day, expecting a row, an argument or at least a telling off. I thought I was going to get the worst kind of telling off, the kind when you know you are in the wrong, or at least that the other has a right to be upset.

When I closed the door I heard her voice.

'Ah, there you are.'

She didn't sound as terrible as she had at lunchtime but I could see in her eyes that she hadn't forgot.

'I'm sorry,' I started.

'I know you are sorry. This time, however, I am going to do something about it.'

There was a kind of determination in her that made me hold my breath.

She didn't wait for my reply. She beckoned me to follow her into the living room. She walked over to the big table and from it she picked up a hairbrush. It was her old wooden hairbrush, very big and heavy.

'I have decided that I need this to forgive you,' she said.

'I am sorry, I really am.'

'I know you are but I need this.'

'Not sure I understand...' I heard my voice trail off.

'When I said I would punish you, I realised I meant it. I am going to punish you, with this.'

She held out the brush.

'You can't be serious.'

'I am serious.'

'You really mean...?'

'That I am going to spank you, yes, I really mean it.'

'Is it even allowed?'

'I don't care.'

'You can't.'

'Don't do this. Don't argue. Just come here. Do whatever you want afterwards, say what you want, but just come here and let me punish you.'

She took one of the wooden chairs by the table and turned it round and sat down on it. I knew what she meant by it. I stood staring at her, not really knowing what to do.

It was then I took a step forward. I seemed to know that there was a place for me across her lap and it was to that place I was moving. I felt like a robot, preprogrammed to obey an order. I awkwardly leaned forward and laid myself down on her knee.

She didn't say anything. It all happened in silence. Maybe we couldn't talk, maybe saying something would destroy the determination that had made me move.

It was uncomfortable to lie across her thighs and I tried to find a way of balancing myself. My heart was beating as I wondered what it would be like to get a spanking. I couldn't believe she would really go through with it. It seemed surreal, a strange and weird thing.

Then she took hold of my skirt and flipped it up.

'You can't do that,' I gasped.

'You know I can,' she hissed.

It was so easy, just lifting my skirt. In one instant she made me vulnerable and exposed. With one movement, she cut through my modesty, my sense of integrity.

Then she smacked me. It stung and I jumped. My first reaction was not to protest or cry out but to close my eyes and tense my body, being surprised and shocked by the sudden pain.

She then smacked me again. Again, I jumped.

'It hurts,' I whimpered and felt silly.

'It's supposed to hurt.'

'How many smacks?'

'You'll see.'

She then began to smack me, one smack on the right and then one on the left and then the right again. She did it slowly but steadily. I began to squirm and move. She found her strength and let the brush land with some force on my bottom.

I felt angry and intimidated that she wanted to hurt me, wanted it to be painful and I began to struggle, not wanting it, not accepting it.

'No, you can't do this, it hurts too much,' I cried.

She stopped.

'You have no idea, have you? I am punishing you. I want it to hurt. Just take it and think of the rest later.'

Her voice was low, menacing.

Then she began to smack me again, slowly, hard. This time I didn't protest. I was defeated. She knew what she was doing and she wanted this for me.

It still hurt and it was still unbearable and I didn't know what to do, where to go or how to cope with it. I began to cry and felt even more deflated than before.

There was a strange kind of release in my tears. But they didn't take the pain away. I was still suffering.

Then she stopped.

'I am sorry,' I whispered. I was in a strange frame of mind. I seemed to have moved all the anger to the side and was just relieved she wasn't spanking me any more.

'I am not done yet.'

'But why? I get the message.'

'Because I am not done, that is why.'

She then sat in silence as if she was regarding me.

'I am going to give you some more,' she said, her voice very soft, 'and for that I will prepare you.'

'Prepare me?'

She didn't say anything. Instead she took hold of my knickers and began to gently pull them down.

I don't know why or what really happened but some part of me seemed to be in tune with her thoughts, because I lifted my hips and helped her take my knickers down. I felt my cheeks become hot as I adjusted my body in her lap.

I braced myself for the spanking but was still surprised and overwhelmed when the hairbrush hit my naked skin. It was sharper, more direct, a more pronounced sensation.

I don't know if there really was that much difference or if it was just because I knew I was bared for my spanking, that my skin had been exposed to make me feel it more, but this time the spanking hurt more, was felt more.

Then something happened. It stopped being her, my partner and lover, who smacked my bottom, who caused me pain. It became something else, a concerted effort, as if we both were in on this. She held the brush and I endured the pain. As if we both wanted this.

Then it was over. She told me she was done. I couldn't move but was lying still, trying to figure out where I was, what had happened and how I felt.

My bottom was numb and warm and I was exhausted. I took a deep breath and scrambled to my feet. I pulled my knickers up and rearranged my skirt. Things were getting back to normal.

We didn't speak. I looked at her. She looked empty, spent and very tired.

It was in that moment I think I accepted it. I stood staring at her and wondered what I should say. I had waited to tell her how stupid all this was and how wrong she was to do this. But all that happened was that I smiled a little and felt how much I loved her.

I had done this for her. I had endured this for her, because she wanted it for me. In a way, I had exposed more than my bottom to her. And instead of anger and humiliation, I felt warmth. I was proud of her. It was strange and I didn't understand it but I was very proud of her.