I know, I am hopeless. Here I bang on about a darker side and daring to write something that scares me, and when I sit down and write, this kind of story comes out. Well, I can't deny it, I am a hopeless romantic, so here is a kind of love story...of sorts.
She was beautiful. I know it is shallow to begin with that, but she was. She was blond, narrow shoulders and narrow hips. She was quite small. She had the greenest of eyes and a very serious mouth, a mouth I couldn't help wanting to kiss. And a smile that made my knees week.
Somehow it seems even more shallow to try to describe her character, or what I liked about it. She was clever, that goes without saying, but she had humour and she was kind and she was a good person to be with.
The real truth was that I loved her. Whatever her looks or her mind or whatever it could be, I just loved her. And best of all was that she loved me.
This particular night we were on our way to a rather formal dinner. I wasn't used to it, neither was she, but we knew it was good for both of us to attend. And besides, who could be sure it wasn't going to be nice?
I had tried my best to dress up in black tie but that was nothing compared to her. When I got to her flat I was amazed by how she looked.
She had dressed in a black dress, it was almost shining, some kind of satin, I suppose. And it felt really nice to the touch. It was a sleeveless dress with a wide neck, but quite modest. The upper part fit her quite snugly while the skirt was wide.
The way she smiled at me, and how she looked with her hair in a ponytail, necklace and earrings and everything. I thought it would be hard to keep my hands off her.
She didn't make it any easier by standing very close to me and inviting me to take her in my arms. I kissed her, and she kissed me. I didn't want to go to the party.
'I love you,' she said.
'I love you too,' I replied.
'I don't think you understand,' she said and tilted her head, 'I love you so very, very much.'
'You do make it hard to leave the flat.'
'You do want me then?'
'I want you,' I said, 'I want you so very, very much,' echoing her words.
'You can have me,' she said and looked almost serious, 'I mean it, you can do anything you want with me. I am yours.'
'That sounds very nice,' I said.
'I mean it, anything.'
'I like hearing you say that, but you don't mean it.'
I looked at her. I can't describe the expression on her face, but I knew it was something deep and profound, something I may not ever understand, but something that was there all the same, there for me.
'If I make you regret those words?' I said.
'Make me regret them.'
I looked at her. She smiled. I believe it was in that moment I decided what to do.
I left the embrace. Took a good look at her, then I looked around. I moved in a strange kind of haze, but I was determined. For some odd reason I knew exactly what to do.
I took the wooden chair that stood in the hallway, the chair she used to sit on when putting on her shoes. I turned it round. I then took her hand and pulled her towards me. She look amused and curious as I sat down on the chair. She made no efforts to defy me when I pulled her down on my lap. Maybe she knew what I wanted to do, maybe she just read my movements in that moment.
'Careful with the dress,' she whispered.
'Don't worry,' I said and flipped her skirt up. 'Nice, black,' I said when I saw her knickers.
I leaned to the side and picked up one of her plimsolls. It was a grey shoe that seemed to fit well in my hand. I then looked at her knickers. There was really no reason to hold back. I took hold of them and pulled them down. She gasped a little but said nothing. She even lifted her hips to make it easier for me to pull down her underwear.
I didn't say anything. There were no words for this. Instead I smacked her bottom with the shoe She jumped and gasped but didn't say anything.
Then I began spanking her in earnest. I let the shoe fly through the air and smack down on her naked bottom, time and again. There was a very special sound that resounded through the hallway, a sound I knew I liked.
It had been just an idea, maybe born from a deeper longing, a fantasy or desire I had born inside me for a long time. When I decided what I was to do, I thought only of teasing her, of challenging her words, trying to make her regret them, prove that I was right. But now when I was really sitting there, letting my hand with her grey shoe There was something compelling, something quite exhilarating in spanking her.
There was not he slightest hint of anger in me, no desire to hurt or harm, or even to get the better of her, just an overwhelming and childish delight in seeing her bottom get hit by a shoe I was wielding.
I wasn't soft with her. No, I spanked her good, let the shoe hit her quite hard. I knew, I could feel in her body that she felt it. It seemed the right thing to do. Or rather it seemed the thing I wanted to do, the thing I challenged her to accept, to take because of her words.
'Done,' I said, 'on your feet.'
She slowly stood up. Her face was flustered and she stretched her back, taking some deep breaths. She hadn't said anything during the spanking, no cries, no protests, no words at all. Now she stood up and pulled her black knickers up. Then she looked at me.
'How is my face?' she said.
'Still in its place,' I said, 'you look gorgeous.'
'It's time to go.'
'Yes, it's time to go.'
There was tension in the air. I couldn't really read her face. She looked serious, but not angry. She didn't smile, but she didn't look unhappy either.
When we went out into the soft evening, she took my arm and leaned against me.
'You will have to work harder to make me regret my words,' she said and I heard in her voice she was smiling.
'Why did you let me do it?'
'Because I love you.'
'Have you wanted to do it for a very long time?'
'I believe I have,' I said.
'That counts for something.'
Then she didn't say more.
I couldn't keep my eyes off her the whole evening. She sparkled like she had never sparkled before. When she moved about a little at the dinner table, I thought of her red bottom and her very black knickers and I almost dropped my spoon in the soup.
Then she looked at me and I knew then that she wasn't angry. She looked at me and I knew she loved me. And in that moment I could have jumped on the table and shouted to the whole world how much I loved her. I knew then that she didn't regret her words.
It was a quite formal thing, that party, which he had been invited too. I think he was a bit nervous, thinking that he had to make an impression, to further his career, and all that. It was quite sweet, actually.
At the same I think he was excited, men like to dress up too. I was very nervous but very excited about the idea of being formal and all that. I had found a very lovely black dress. It looked really strict, in a sense, but lovely, in black satin, with a wide skirt.
It didn't look like it but it was really nice to wear, felt soft and good against the skin. I felt good about myself wearing it and when I looked at myself in the mirror I felt that I had changed, become someone else, if only for a night.
When he arrived he was dapper in black tie. There is something special with a man in black tie. He stood taller, moved with more confidence. There was something absolutely irresistible about him and for a moment I was touched by a dreamy sense of everything happening out of time, in some special place, where we were a very gorgeous couple, at least he.
It was easy to allow myself to be childishly, overwhelmingly, and irrevocably in love with him. It was like all what was hidden below the surface, all those aeons of talking and sharing, and lovemaking and touching, all those memories sped to the surface and seemed to sparkle on my skin, to fill my head and permeate my body.
I had to embrace him, I had to be near him. He kissed me, we kissed, and I didn't really want to go to the party. I wanted to be with him, be his, completely, and lose myself in it, forget all that was me, all what I was during the days.
I meant it when I said he could do anything with me. He took it as a challenge. He is a man, after all, that's what men do.
I think he thought he challenged me too, that he wanted to provoke me to go back on my words, to show me I didn't mean it. The truth was that I enjoyed his grip on my hand, how he directed me across his lap. I wanted him to do things to me.
I wasn't even surprised that it was a spanking he had in mind. I knew that about him, that he hid his fascination, could never admit it, not openly. Those things show in tiny details.
I wasn't surprised when I realised what he had in mind, but I hadn't expected it, I hadn't expect it to surface there and then.
I placed myself across his legs with a tingling and overwhelming thrill, the thrill of handing myself over to him, let him decide, let him do what he wanted.
I felt warmth and a spark when he dared to pull my lovely black knickers down. I didn't mind the boldness, the audacity. I didn't mind his undressing me, I was swept away by it, let myself be swept away.
Then came the beating of the heart, the fear of pain. But I handed myself over to that too.
He took one of my new plimsolls to my skin. It was daring, almost insulting. But there and then, he could do it.
The spanking, the pain was the real challenge, the moment when he tried to make me go back on my words. There is pride in me, and it helped me take it, but the pride was not so much in proving him wrong, as to be true to my own conviction, and my own emotions. I bit my lip and took it. I had no other desire, I wanted to take it, with all my heart.
The sense in my body when we came to the dinner was special. My bottom was aching, smarting, still sore, and the warmth seemed to wash through me completely. I felt I was glowing with it and it made my skin hot. I blushed when I walked beside him, a spanked woman, a woman he had just taken over his knee. The thought was outrageous and very, very delightful.
The way he looked at me, the way his gaze seemed to caress me and see through my clothes, it was not just lust or desire, there was something far more beautiful in it too.
I would do it again, any time, for him, with him.