Sometimes when you read something by someone who is really good, you get inspired. It is quite fun to try to write in the style of someone else, one of the really clever ones. In all honesty, I don't make an effort to make my text similar to anyone else's, I am just trying to allow myself to write with a certain style in my mind. So it doesn't really matter if it is similar or not. It's just a story, nothing more.
We met at a café on King's Lane. It was around five when he walked in. He wasn't late but I was a little annoyed since I had been so early. He looked awfully smart, in a dark blue suit and a red tie.
'You look nice,' he said as he sat down.
I laughed a short mocking laugh and smiled at him.
We went on to the restaurant and he took command. I don't know, but it seemed a little awkward for him. He knew what to do, how to talk to the waiter, how to order, but there was something that told me wasn't used to it.
We had met some days before, at a party and he had looked at me. I couldn't really understand what that look meant but it made me interested.
We shared a bottle of wine. I don't really drink wine but he didn't ask, just assumed that it was what I wanted. I kind of liked that.
We talked and drank our wine and had the veal and then the panna cotta. He was easygoing, not too bold, not too shy. He gave me room and listened. I enjoyed being listened to. It was nice.
'Want to go anywhere?' he asked when we had had our coffee. I had mine with lots of milk but he took his black. I don't know if he liked it that way or if he just wanted to show off.
'So you want to go somewhere,' I asked, 'with me?'
'I want to spank you.'
'I thought you wanted other things.'
'Things you do, man and woman, you know.'
'No, maybe later, but first I want to spank you.'
'Where do you go for that sort of thing?'
'To my place.'
'It's the second time we meet.'
'It is known to have happened the first time.'
We walked through the empty city streets. They were almost completely deserted. It was an ordinary weekday and there wasn't much to do. It was only us who were dressed to kill.
I felt smart in my black dress and I had made my hair up in a sweet bun on my head with a very nice butterfly clip. It was a cheap thing but it made my hair look good.
'You get to choose,' he said, when I sat in his sofa.
'Not the wine, I have already decided on the wine.'
He came back with a bottle of red and two glasses. He poured the wine. I don't know much of wine but it was full and mature and not so flowery, if those are the words you use for describing wine.
He didn't talk, just sat there, sipping his wine. I wondered what it was he wanted me to choose. I wondered what it was he really had brought me here for.
He put his glass down and went away. He came back and placed a heavy wooden thing, something that looked a little like a leather belt and a riding crop on the table.
'I want you to choose one of these.'
I looked at the things and saw that the wooden thing was flat and heavy, had holes in it and a handle. The leather thing was thick and some eight inches long with a handle too. The riding crop was black.
'Which one is worst?'
'I couldn't tell, they are different.'
'I don't know which one to choose.'
'Just pick one then.'
I sat looking at the things and thought that he was serious. I wasn't still sure but I began to think he might be.
I pointed at the leather thing.
'Do you want to finish your wine?'
'No, I don't'
He told me to stand up and lift my skirt. I did as I was told. I was then to lie across the armrest of the sofa. It wasn't very comfortable.
He walked up to me and pulled my knickers down. I was staring in front of me, at a small Persian Rug, or rather a Kilim and wondered if was going to tell him they are supposed to hang on the wall.
I was surprised by the impact. My body rocked forward and at first I was more shocked by the impact than the pain.
He didn't tell me how many times he was going to hit me so I wondered every time: 'is this the last one.'
It hurt and I couldn't stop myself from crying. I felt embarrassed and it was strange to think that I was more embarrassed about crying than having my knickers around my knees. Maybe having my knickers pulled down was what I had expected.
When he was done I rose to my feet and pulled my knickers up. I smoothed out my skirt and looked at him.
'I liked that,' he said.
'Yes, I did.'
'No, thanks, I don't really like wine.'
'Do you want me to leave now?'
'No, not if you don't want to.'
'I could stay.'