Monday, 29 March 2010

Black or Red?

I can't say that I much fancy the kind of spanking stories that features an arrogant teenage girl or a sloppy wife or anyone who generally is at fault, the kind of person who gets her comeuppance and leaves you with the sense that this was the thing that was needed, the punishment that set things straight. There is a kind of moral I don't like at all, that some people deserve punishments, that it is somehow right to give them a whacking.

Don't get me wrong. I do understand that someone may think that they want to spank another person, even think they deserve it. It is when this assumption is taken for granted I don't like the story

I don't think that fantasy stories have to be politically correct. Far from it. If there is somewhere we should be allowed to form the world exactly how we want it, it should be in our imagination. Sometimes the very prejudices, the stuffy moral is what makes the fantasy a good one. It's not the misogyny in the Gor books I resent. These kind of things are often what drives a fantasy.

It is just that I don't much fancy those kind of stories. Regardless of this I thought I should try to write one, complete with a mean woman who has it coming and all that. I am not consistent, never accuse me of being consistent.

George was a friend from university, we had known each other for some time. I liked George, he was the kind of person you couldn't help liking. He was a very peaceful person, actually one of those who really didn't like conflicts. I never saw him as meek, though, kind and gentle and sometimes a little too cautious but not meek.

He had married a beautiful woman. Her name was Katherine. She was tall, had dark eyes and dark brown hair. She was an intelligent person, had an active mind and was one of those who got things done.

With George she was vicious. I don't know why she ever married him. He, on the other hand, adored her, he was devoted to her and did everything for her. It was hard not to be a little hostile to her the way she treated him.

She mocked him openly and told him, in front of others, what a useless nobody he was. It hurt to see it.

I don't want to judge, maybe he deserved it, maybe she had her reasons but to anyone watching she was vicious.

We had met up with a group of friends at a restaurant, a rather fancy one. Katherine and George were there and so was I. It was obvious that Katherine was in a foul mood. It didn't take long before she lashed out at George.

'You are not a man, George, you are a boy and boys don't get to kiss pretty girls.'

'Please, Katherine.'

'Don't 'please' me, why should I keep quiet? You let everyone walk all over you.'

'That's not true.'

'This Sasha woman, she is not even your boss, you let her order you around.'

'I am helping her, Katherine.'

'She is pretty and she lets you do all the job and she gets the credit.'

'You are being harsh.'

'I am not harsh, I am gentle. No real man would let someone, like this Sasha, use you like she does.'

'What do you want me to do?'

'In Russia, I have been told, a woman is not satisfied with her husband until he whips her.'

'Isn't that taking it too far?'

'You don't get it, do you, gentle George, you are just a boy.'

At this point some other friend butted in and directed the conversation away from George and onto something completely different.

I spoke with George later, when the conversations were not across the table but face to face.

'George,' I said, 'why do you let her talk to you, like that?'

'What can I do?' He looked miserable.

'Maybe she has a point?'

'What do you mean?'

'Maybe you are too gentle?'

'I don't know, I don't know. It makes me all frustrated.'

'And angry?'

'Yes, angry too.'

'Maybe that's a good thing.'

Some time later I was invited to a dinner at George and Katherine's house. They lived in a nice house that had a dining room that allowed rather nice dinners.

I was early, way too early. I know this is extremely impolite but I thought I may help them with the dinner or just be there for them. George was a good friend and he had seemed very stressed out about this dinner. It was Katherine's idea but it made George anxious.

As I walked up to the front door, I noticed it was open. I called out but no one answered. I peeked through and saw no one so I decided to walk in. I considered myself a very good friend of George's and I knew he liked me too. It wasn't according to protocol to enter like that but I dared it anyway.

I heard that they were busy on the first floor. I listened and found that they were very busy. I heard upset voices and realised a row was going on.

Curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what George and the delightful Katherine rowed about. I walked halfway up the stairs and prepared myself to look confused and surprised should any of them find me there.

Now I could hear what they said.

'No, you bastard, I am not going to wear the black dress. It makes me look like a prostitute.' Katherine was incensed.

'I don't think you look like a prostitute,' George said, his voice lower.

'It clings to my body, I don't like it, it's too short. And it isn't going to happen.'

'I think it is stylish...'

'It's vulgar.'

'...and sexy. You look great in it.'

I heard something new in his voice. I couldn't put my finger on it. His voice was low, almost purring but there was a tone of something else there, something a little menacing. And in combination with the trivial matter of which dress his wife was to wear I realised something unusual was happening.

'Why are you staring like that?' Katherine said, her voice sharp.

'Put on the black dress.'


'Put it on.'

'Don't be ridiculous. Are you going to force me.'

'For the last time, put it on.'

The sharpness in George's voice made me prick up my ears.


George didn't reply. I heard him walk across the room and open a door. He soon returned and I heard Katherine laugh.

'What are you doing with that thing?' Her voice was mocking him.

'You will soon find out.'

'I will soon find out,' she repeated, her voice cold as ice.

'Come here.'

'Why on earth would I do...'

There was commotion in the room. I heard someone move across the floor. Then silence. Through the silence came strange whimpering sounds, sounds of frustration, and perhaps struggle. Were they wrestling?

I had to get closer.

'You bastard!' Katherine cried.


I sneaked up to the door to their bedroom. It was slightly ajar and I could peek through the opening. What I saw made me gasp.

In the bedroom was a comfy armchair. It was covered in green velvet and not stylish enough for the living room and I assume that is why it ended up in the bedroom instead. Across the armrest Katherine was lying, face down. She was dressed in a bright red satin dress. I had seen it before, it was a rather nice dress. Now it was in disarray.

George was standing beside her, leaning over her and as more and more details became clear, I saw that he was holding his wife down on the armchair with a grip on her arm, an arm that was twisted on her back.

I didn't see Katherine's head but I could clearly see her bottom. It was no longer covered by her dress. The skirt was ruthlessly pushed up over her back. Furthermore I noticed that she had no knickers on. I then saw that this was not completely true. They hung around her knees and looked very thin and black and lacy.

In his other hand, George held a long narrow object. I thought it could be a black riding crop. As I looked through the door he brought this vicious thing down on the very unprotected bottom of his wife. The sound was tremendous. I heard a short swishing sound that was followed by a sharp report when the leather of the crop hit the soft skin of Katherine's behind.

I flinched and gasped as I heard Katherine cry out, in anger and frustration more than anything.

'You bastard.'

Her protest was cut short by another sharp cut by the horsewhip. The effect was immediate and now there was agony in the unarticulated cry Katherine let out.

She kicked her legs and tried to wriggle free but this time, George was the stronger. She was rewarded with another lash by the crop.

I stared at the scene in front of my eyes. George let the whip fly through the air, time and time again only to land with devastating effect on the naked bottom of the proud Katherine. I saw red stripes form across her fair buttocks.

'Please, please,' she cried and George stopped suddenly.

'I will take the black one, George, I will, just stop it.'

'Good, I am pleased,' he said, a new confidence in his voice. 'Then there isn't much left.'

'What do you mean?' Katherine sounded worried.

'I mean, it is just the rest left.'

Then he whipped her again. She cried out in agony as the crop hit home. George delivered a set of hard blows and his wife wriggled pathetically under the lash.

I knew I had to leave. I had been transfixed by the scene before my eyes and as I tore myself from it, I felt my heart beating hard. I was shocked but there was also a strange thrill within me, a something that spoke of excitement.

I sneaked down the stairs and back outside. I walked out into the street and was happy for the chill in the air. It helped to cool me down. I stood in the dark for a while and waited.

Finally I saw a couple of other friends arrive and I pretended I had just got there and accompanied them to the front door. Now it was closed and we rang the bell.

George answered and he looked smart as always. Nothing in his face or behaviour seemed to betray what had just happened. As he ushered us into the dining room we were met by his wife. She smiled and sparkled as she always did and looked very lovely in her very short black dress, a dress that hugged her body tightly and was revealing but still very stylish.

Katherine looked admiringly at her George and I didn't at all see the tension in her mouth, that little movement that often came before some mocking remark. No, Katherine was very quiet and delightful and only once did I see her twitch her face, and that was when she sat down at the dinner table.


Ollie said...

I do agree with you Janice.

Whilst on the surface we all want to see the shrew tamed as it offends out sense of rightness, there's something slightly unsatisfying about it; the way in fiction in which the effects of a good whipping are inevitably those of improved marital relations and not a divorce.

There again, who would want to read stories like that? certainly if my own scribbles are anything to go by, not many.

Paul said...

Janice, most of us are aware that such stories are not generally true to life.
But which of us doesn't wish that a woman with a really vicious tongue, would just occasionally get her comeuppance.
Still like it or not, you wrote it very well.
Love and warm hugs,

Lea said...

... and yet, it's still so erotic reading, isn't it? ;)

Janice said...

Dear Ollie, I do understand the appeal, I really do, just don't find myself fantasising along those lines. There is something unnerving about it, but sometimes we are attracted to the unnerving. I don't mean to be judgemental, at all.

Dear Paul, I can imagine it is more appealing from the spanker's point of view. Maybe I have a hard time seeing myself as a brat, deserving a spanking and I find the path of real guilt and real punishment a little too dark...but maybe I will go there, one day.

Dear Lea, yes you are right, maybe that is why, after all, I wrote this story...smiles.