Surrender, part 23

Here it is, the last episode of this story. I have finally managed to write a longer story to the end. I hope I still have managed to surprise you a little.

Returning home was strange. It had all come so easy to me during the trip. There had been so little reluctance, so little protest. I wanted it. That was the truth I had begun to live with, I wanted it.

We had a rather blessed month. He was home a lot and I spent most of my time in his flat. I was naked a lot, I knelt a lot and somehow this made it easier for me. The formality, the positions, the poses, the movements and the words, all seemed to make it normal and acceptable to be what I was, or had become. I was his slave.

It was a silly word. I knew all about slavery, the social context and the implications of it and what I experienced was nothing compared to that. Still there was something of a truth in calling me a slave.

I did accept it, I was the one allowing it, so in a way it was by free will and by definition a long way from slavery. But inside that bubble, in the context of being with him, it was still true. He commanded and I obeyed, he used me and I provided what he wanted, I pleased him and did what he required of me.

There was bliss in that. It was good to be free of the responsibility and I had showed myself and him that I was prepared to go through a lot of ordeal to live up to his expectations.

It was no smooth sailing. He sometimes wanted to assert himself, to show me who I was. Sometimes he just fancied it. And this meant spelling out on my body the truth of my position, it meant him taking his whip to me.

It was all part of the deal, part of being loved by him and loving him, trusting him and being with him. In some strange way, I was happy those weeks.

It all changed. It didn't happen in a sudden but the change was still dramatic.

It all started one evening, when I had gone to his flat after my lectures. As ordered, I stripped off in the hallway and put away my clothes. I went into the flat, naked, and looked around to make sure that everything was in order.

I didn't know when to expect him so I couldn't start cooking for him and the rooms were meticulously cleaned. I saw that the flowers needed water so I attended to that.

This was not as easy as it may sound. It meant standing in the window for some time and expose myself to anyone who happened to be watching. I know he liked that and wouldn't mind the rumours but I was still embarrassed.

When I was done, I sat down to read. I had to wait for him quite a while and when he finally opened the door I was bored. I flew up and hurried into the hallway to greet him.

He smiled at my 'welcome home, Sir' and took his coat off and gave it to me.

It was then it happened. I held the coat close to my face and smelled it, a silly gesture of affection.

My heart started beating. I had smelt something new, someone new. I was quite sure it wasn't a man.

Smell is strange. It is one of the most powerful senses there is, yet it is illusive. I wasn't sure I could pinpoint the smell, still I knew I had felt something different.

My mind started racing, my heart was beating hard. I gathered myself and asked him what he wanted for dinner.

I didn't much like the sense of distance I felt between us, the question marks that seemed to stand before me. I had to ask him, my trust in him demanded it.

'Sir?' I said, a little later.

'Yes, what is it?'

'Do you have someone else, besides me?'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean, do you have other women?'

'You are my one and only.'

'I am glad, Sir.'

I felt calmer. I trusted him. Still I couldn't get the nagging feeling out of my head. I felt as if I betrayed him by thinking like that and thought that I probably was.

I had managed to forget the whole incident until one evening when he took me to a party. It was a quite formal thing, with black ties and cocktail dresses.

As usual I was dressed in a short clinging thing that made me feel naked. I had come to almost enjoy this sensation. It was as if the dress was the sign of ownership, like it showed me off as his woman, his slave.

He introduced me to a colleague of his, a woman dressed in a red dress, less revealing than mine but still quite stylish and attention seeking.

She seemed really happy to see him and hugged him closely. In her friendliness and perhaps as a token of her appreciation of him she hugged me too.

I knew in that instance who she was. I knew she had hugged him before. How much do you have to hug a man to leave your scent on him? More than a friendly embrace, surely.

I looked into her face and she smiled at me. I knew she had been with him, she told me as clearly as if she had spoken the words.

I had to ask him. There was no other way. I simply had to find out.

I tried to think about what it meant if he really was intimate with this woman. Did I have the right to keep him for myself? If I really was his slave, his woman, who was I to demand that of him? I didn't know how I would react but I needed to know.

The whole evening my head was full of strange images of this woman coming home to his flat. In my mind she sometimes sat in the sofa with him and I hurried around, naked, waiting on them, or she watched when I was whipped, maybe she even touched me. Maybe I had to watch them kiss, or worse. Sometimes I saw her with pulled up skirt, knickers around her knees, getting the cane.

I tried to calm my beating heart and thought that this was my next ordeal, my next test of loyalty.

'Sir,' I said, as we returned to his flat, 'you have had that woman.'

'What makes you say that?'

'I know you have, Sir.'

'What if I have?'

'It is true, isn't it?'

'Only a couple of times. It doesn't change anything.'

'Sir, it does.'

'No, it doesn't, I have never promised to be faithful, what makes you think you have exclusive rights?'

I stood in silence for a while, looking at him.

'You don't get it, Sir.'

'No, I don't get it, what's the matter with you?'

'You told me you hadn't been with her.'

'I didn't want to hurt you.'

'You lied to me, Sir, you lied when I asked you a question. You don't see what you have done, do you?'

'What have I done?' He looked annoyed and a little bewildered.

'You have wrecked it all, that is what you have done. You don't get it, why would you? You went off with another woman, and I have tried to get my head around what it would be like sharing you with someone else. I know I would be jealous, angry, hurt and envious but I think, no, I know you would help me with that, maybe the whip would come in handy for jealousy, and I think, I really think that I could cope with it. I have gone through so much with you, been forced to accept and like things I never thought was possible, never thought I could cope with. You have helped me through it with carrot and stick, literally, so why wouldn't I manage this too? No, I am sure I would. But that is not the point. I obey you in everything and the one thing I need from you, the only thing that has to be firm and constant, the only thing that matters at the end of the day, that is trust. I don't know if I could live without being loved, maybe it would be possible but I know I have to trust you. And now you have broken that trust. You have lied to me. It's over, it was sweet, but now it is gone.'

I turned around and opened the door. He said nothing as I went out into the night and left him behind.

I walked through the streets, in my clinging dress, in my thin shoes, crying like a baby. I didn't care. It was over. I didn't know why I was so sure. I just knew I couldn't be with him if I couldn't trust him.

I don't know how I got through those days. Sarah, dear Sarah helped me. She held me and let me cry, she didn't try to talk and give advice, no she just stayed there and held me close.

He contacted me. He wanted me back. Maybe he understood what he had done, maybe not. He didn't apologise and I am not sure it had made any difference.

I crashed this time too, as I always did when a relationship didn't work out. And again I got my feet back on the ground, slowly.

I was back at work and I knew I loved it. I was a changed person though. He had added something, or opened up a passage to a part of me that had been hidden.

I didn't stop my research, I stuck to my guns, I was still the same. The difference was that now I knew what I longed for. I still blush when I think of it, how I long to kneel naked at someone's feet.

Surrender, part 22

I was a little mean to you who don't know the glory of Cricket. I couldn't help it. It is a great game. Here comes the next part of Surrender story. If you are as confused as Wystan E, then you may read my comment on his comment to the last instalment.

The next morning we went walking through the city centre. It was ancient and sedate and full of churches and old palazzos. He took me to a church and we wandered through it. I was taken by the mix of old and new, delicate and vulgar.

Behind a pillar, he leaned forward and whispered in my ear to take my knickers off. After the first rush of opposition and reluctance there came the thrilling sensation of giving in to him, to accepting his wishes, the excitement of doing something bad like that, in a place of worship.

I looked around and although I heard there were other people in the church, I saw no one. It was quick work to slip my knickers down and step out of them. I handed them to him and he put them in his pocket.

He took me to an art gallery and with precision found all paintings and sculptures depicting nudes, and especially female nudes. He stood before them for a long time talking about them.

'That is how women should be, naked. That is how I want them, naked for my pleasure.'

To him there was no doubt about our roles. I was there to please him and he made it clear to me that he was pleased with me. He compared my body to the ones in the gallery and explained in detail why he found me beautiful.

I was an object for him, an object he loved and wanted. In his strange way he respected me. He wanted me for what I could do for him, that was no secret.

He didn't look down on my academic achievements, on the contrary, he was proud of them, but they didn't interest him. He was selfish in a very childish way, he talked a lot about what he thought and wanted. He was interested in my opinions as long as they didn't interfere with his own wishes and desires.

There, in that Italian town, he made it clear to me that there was another side of me, a side that wasn't about career and achievements, but that was about something else. It was about body and submission and accepting my desires.

That was the strangest of it all. I desired it. All this submitting to him spoke to some longing in me. He disregarded my will but somehow, he left room for my own desires. I don't think he knew this, or if he did, he had stumbled on this knowledge by mistake. He was selfish, but self assured enough to not having to subdue my longings.

I was happy those days. We walked through this ancient town, had dinner in small restaurants and climbed the mountains outside the city walls. He didn't have to whip me and tie me up. He had me wear too short skirts and very little underwear, just as a reminder of whose power I was in.

It was easy being his. It was sweet being his woman, his servant and slave. He didn't provoke me in order to test my resolve. He had already done that, he had already forced me to accept the whip and being shamed me in front of his friend. We both seemed to know it wasn't necessary any more.

At the end of our stay he did want to shock me, though. He seemed to want to remind me that submission to him wasn't all sweet romantic walks through a lovely old town. Or maybe he just wanted to play a game.

In the evening we went back to the hotel and in the street in front of it, there was a group of young men sitting on scooters. My man stopped short and looked at them. He then looked at me. I saw a kind of wicked smile play on his lips and then he went over to the young men and talked to them.

When he came back they followed him. They looked at me in a way that made me blush. They stared at me, and smiled.

He took us all into a back alley behind the hotel. He took my arm and turned me around so I suddenly stood facing the small group of three Italian youths.

'Knickers off,' he said to me in a sharp voice.

Humiliation burned my cheeks as I put my hands under my skirt and pulled my knickers down. I stepped out of them and tried to give them to my man. He pointed to the young men and one of them reached out and took them. He chuckled and put them in his pocket.

'You,' my man said and pointed to one of the youths, the tallest and most handsome of them. 'Come here.'

The young man came forward.

'Unbutton your dress,' he said to me.

My fingers were numb as I did as I was told. I was terrified but not of the young man, but of my own humiliation.

'Slip it down your shoulders,' he snapped.

I parted the panels and slipped my dress from my shoulders. The young men stared at me, my breasts, and licked their lips.

'You may touch them now,' he said to the man standing closest to me.

I held my breath as his hands shot out towards my breasts. For a short moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if he didn't believe his luck. He smiled a childish smile and put his hands on my bosom.

I drew my breath. His fingers were cold. He started to grope me and knead my breasts with his nervous hands. He eagerly squeezed my flesh till it hurt. I looked at him and saw him stare with wide eyes at his own hands and my bosom.

'Stop it now,' my man commanded, 'put your hand under her skirt.'

He withdrew his hands, looked nervously at my man and then complied. He lifted my skirt and put his hand on my sex. I held my breath.

The youth looked at my man who nodded consent and he slipped his fingers into me. He was not gentle. He was too eager, too nervous. He rubbed his fingers against me, inside me and I gasped at the suddenness and the intensity of his movements.

'Stop now,' was the command, 'go now, the rest is for me.'

The young man withdrew. He looked in awe at my man but seemed unable to say anything. The other two looked amazed and disappointed, as they all returned to their scooters.

'Now they will have something to talk about,' he chuckled as he turned to me.

I still stood with my back against the wall, my dress down from my shoulders and with my bosom on full display.

'How do you feel?'

'Ravaged.'

'Excited?'

'Yes.'

'Humiliated?'

'Yes.'

'Button your dress.'

'Yes, Sir.'

I was trembling as we entered the hotel and went to our room. The youths were gone from the street. I was sure the story would be all around town soon.

'The rest is, indeed, for me,' he said as he began to unbutton my dress.

In that moment I didn't care I had been humiliated in a back alley behind a hotel. I desperately wanted him to touch me.

Surrender, part 21

Here it is, the end of the story. There will be two more parts but then it is over. We'll see what you will think of the end but at least I have written a longer story to the end. This is, actually, an achievement for me. I usually lose interest somewhere in the middle and go off to start another story...or two...or three.

'Will you come to Italy with me?' He said, a week later.

'To Italy, is it some conference or meeting?' I said, trying to figure out what I really felt, trying to overcome my surprise.

'No, just you and me, no duties.'

'Why do you ask me?'

'Because I want you to come.'

'No, I wondered why'd you ask me, why don't you just order me.'

'Who said I wasn't interested in your opinion?'

'No, why,' I said and felt bewildered.

He scrutinised me for a while.

'What is it that bothers you?'

'Why do you suddenly care about what I think, you didn't care when you let Jonathon touch me.' My cheeks became red and hot at the memory.

'I didn't say I would respect your opinion. I may still be interested in it.'

'Of course,' I said.

'Don't be grumpy, and you haven't said if you want to go to Italy with me.'

I looked up at him and saw him smile. There was no way I was to change his mind about anything. He was a force of nature and if he didn't want to budge he wouldn't. I could stand my ground but I would have to take the consequences of that.

'I'd love to go to Italy with you.' I smiled at him.

'Are you sure?'

'Yes, I am absolutely sure.'

'You will come as my woman, sit at my feet.'

'I'll kneel at your feet by Fontana di Trevi, if that is what you want.'

'Then we are going to Italy.'

'Yes.'

'And from now on, you will address me as Sir.'

'Sir?'

'Yes, I like that. And you will do it in public.'

'No one will think of me as your partner, I will be like your PA or secretary or something.'

'Do you mind?'

'Yes, Sir, I do mind.'

'But you will do it.'

'Yes, Sir.'

'Good.'

The sense of pride that filled me surprised me. I had begun to be proud of my achievements but it was still surprising that I should be so happy putting my own person to the side and accept whatever humiliation he chose for me.

I was warm and tired as we arrived at the airport of the small town he had chosen for our trip. The sun stood high on a clear blue sky and despite the fierce traffic and ugly suburb, Italy managed to smile at us.

He had insisted on shopping for me before leaving so my bag was full of new clothes and shoes. I wore a light summer dress and a hat that made me look as if I was on the Grand Tour sometime around the beginning of the 20th century rather than living in the contemporary world. I knew it was quite deliberate since he had chosen a very timeless suit that well matched my outfit.

The city centre was ancient and hadn't it been for the advertising boards and the youngsters on their scooters, it could have been a hundred years ago.

The hotel was small and the interior did nothing to bring us back to the 21th century. We got our key and went to our room. I was tired, it had been a long journey. I had been true to his command and called him 'Sir' but I had made my utmost to not address him in public. He knew this and seemed to find it amusing.

'Now I need something to drink,' he said as I put my bag on the bed to unpack. 'I think I'll go down to the bar.'

'You want me to change?'

He stopped short, waited.

'...Sir,' I said.

'No, I don't want you to change and I want you to stay in the room.'

'Yes, Sir,' I said, a little bewildered and quite disappointed.

He opened his bag and rummaged through it. He smiled as he pulled something from it. It looked like a narrow belt or a leather strap but as he held it out I saw that it was fitted on a metal ring. The strap was threaded through the ring so that the leather formed three loops, like the petals of a flower.

'Strip,' he said in a soft voice.

It was easy. He told me to strip and I obeyed him. It was a hot day and it was quite nice to slip out of my clothes. The French window was slightly ajar so the sounds of the street below filled the room. This made my undressing seem a bit more public.

I enjoyed taking my clothes off for him. He looked at me and I knew he wasn't looking at the Doctor of History but at an obedient woman, a woman who was exposing her body at his command. I felt attractive as he stared at me, attractive and excited.

He made me sit on the floor, quite close to the window. I could feel the soft breeze on my body as I sat down. He knelt in front of me and now it became clear what he wanted with the leather strap.

He put two of the loops around my legs and moved them up to just above my knees. The third loop contained the buckle which he opened. I leaned forward and leaned my upper body against my knees as he buckled the strap shut around my neck. When he was

done I sat folded forward, with my chest on my thighs and my neck strapped to my the leather around my knees.

He then took another strap out of his bag and applied them around my wrists behind my back. When he was done I was quite bound. Two quite short leather straps made sure I wouldn't go anywhere.

'I'll go down for a drink. Stay there,' he said and chuckled to himself.

'But if anyone comes?'

'Yes, what if anyone comes?' he said and smiled.

'Will you be long?'

'As long as it takes.'

He turned to me when he had got to the door.

'This is not a good place for whippings, the walls are too thin. We will have to do without them for a while.'

Then he left and shut and locked the door. I was left on the floor, naked and bound.

I struggled with the sense of humiliation he had left me with. I was different from him and nothing could show that more clearly than him sitting in the bar, enjoying a nice something to drink and me, naked and left on my own in the room.

I was disappointed and wanted my freedom to explore and experience this new place. I was even angry.

Maybe it was the soft air coming in through the door, the sounds from the street that made me feel close to the world outside, the place itself, the fact that it was different and new to me, maybe it was all of that which made me suddenly very calm. I took a deep breath and I knew that this wasn't an ordinary trip. I wasn't there to study Italian culture and life. I was still inside a bubble, his bubble. I was his woman, the woman who was sitting by his feet.

This was who I was. This was me with him, naked on the floor, bound and helpless. I was at his mercy. This was the life I had chosen and it was petty to be disappointed that I couldn't sit in the bar or go walking outside. I was here because of him and with him and I had to accept where he put me. Or rather I chose to accept it, not in that very moment, but as the basis of our relationship.

There was meaning with my nudity, my bonds and my being left alone. It was what he had chosen for me and in binding me, he had touched me and the leather around my limbs were his touch. He was there with me.

I felt childishly happy at that thought. I wasn't sitting there because he was superior to me by nature, not because he had the right to do so, but because he wanted it that way, and I wanted it that way, and because I loved him.

I felt sexy. I wasn't used to that. I felt suddenly very soft and vulnerable, all those things I had been scared of, things that had threaten to expose me to danger. Now, inside his bubble, they seemed attractive and something sought after, asked for and wanted.

Surrender, part 20

You may have noticed, I haven't been blogging that much lately. I am sorry, I have every intention of blogging regularly but now my mind has been busy, full of other stuff. Anyway, here is the last (latest) instalment of the Surrender story. I think it would be quite possible to stop there but part of me wants to continue. What do you think Dear Readers? I have an idea what you will say but I will ask you anyway.

A Tuesday afternoon in November he phoned me at work and told me to come home to him in the evening. That sort of thing often happened and he showed no respect for any plans I possibly had. This evening I had no plans but something he said made me a little wary.

He told me I was to be spanked when I got to his flat. I wasn't exactly surprised that he should choose to spank me without giving a reason but it was unusual that he told me in advance and I was by no means used to being punished like that.

I was quite upset the whole afternoon and was a little annoyed with him. I knew the reason for telling me in advance was for me to have time to worry. It was all intentional. That thought caused both anger and a strange sense of acceptance. If this is what he wanted of me, then so be it!

I was a bit apprehensive when I rang his doorbell and was admitted. He beamed at me as if the thought of giving me a spanking was the most delightful thought ever conceived. Maybe it was, for him.

'There is someone I want you to meet,' he said as we entered the living room.

'I thought,' I blurted out before I bit my tongue.

A youngish man sat in one of the armchairs, the left one, the one he never sat in. He had dark blond hair, was quite thin and had delicate hands. He was dressed in black trousers and a dark read sweater. I saw that he was tall and slender as he rose to his feet to greet me.

'This is Jonathon, and this is my pet.'

I had wished he had told Jonathon I had a PhD in History, not just a 'pet'. My cheeks were red as I took his hand and felt the firm grip of a warm hand. I liked him already.

'What were you saying?' my man said to me.

'No, nothing.'

'Please, tell us. You thought something.'

'It wasn't important.'

'Oh, but do go on and tell us, now that I have asked you.'

I considered saying something about thinking that we were going out but I knew he knew what I had been about to say and lying to him seemed like something I couldn't possibly do.

'Please, it doesn't matter.'

'Do say it, I want you too.'

'I am sure Jonathon doesn't want to know all about what I was thinking.'

'Tell us now!'

I took a deep breath.

'I thought you were going to...smack me.' My voice trailed off.

'What makes you think I won't do that?'

'We have guests.'

'But Jonathon is a good friend. He won't mind.'

'You can't be serious.'

'I am dead serious.'

I stared at him. I felt how I blushed. I had told Sarah but that had been embarrassing enough. The thought of an unknown man, like Jonathon watching my humiliation was unthinkable.

'Can I make you some tea?' I said in a desperate attempt at a diversion.

'No, you can walk over to the table and lean over it.'

'Please.'

'Do as you are told!'

In a way it was easier when he was this stern. I seemed to lean on his harshness, his demanding voice to be able to do what was required of me. It was easier to surrender my will to his and let him take the shame.

I walked on trembling legs over to the table. I looked over my shoulder and leaned on the table. I knew that Jonathon now could see my bottom clearly. I was wearing a skirt and it wouldn't ride up too far but with or without clothes my bottom was on full display.

'Please, prepare yourself.'

My heart started beating as I knew I had to raise my skirt. I reached back and slowly pulled it up. There was no way I would volunteer to pull my tights and knickers down. I still hoped I would be allowed to keep them on.

'What makes you think I would choose to spank you on your tights this time?'

The mocking tone of his voice seemed like a slap in my face.

I took hold of my tights and worked them down over my bottom. I stopped directly below my buttocks, when I just had exposed my knickers.

He cleared his throat in a way that made me aware he wasn't satisfied with my behaviour. I knew what he meant. I knew I had no choice.

I sighed and reached back and pulled my knickers down to my tights.

'Down to your knees.'

I did as I was told. I pressed my knees together, fully aware that Jonathon now could see my naked bottom and possibly more too.

It was to be the belt this time. I had never got the belt before. The one I was spanked with was broad and rather heavy and stiff. It felt a little like the tawse but was a bit heavier.

I struggled with the pain, trying to cope when he landed blow after blow on my naked bottom. I didn't want to cry and sob when Jonathon was watching.

I squirmed and wriggled my bottom while I tried to hold back my tears and the pathetic sounds of distress that threatened to come out.

I sighed with relief when he held up after an eternity of smackings. I closed my eyes and hoped it was over for this time.

'Jonathon, perhaps you want to have a go as well?'

I was startled. He really wanted to humiliate me this time.

I heard how Jonathon rose from his seat and approached me. He wasted no time and soon a smack landed on my already sore bottom.

I had tears in my eyes. He let another man spank me. At that moment it felt like he had given me to him for sex, as a loan, as he was prostituting me. Spankings had been between him and me, now an unknown man was spanking me.

Jonathon was milder, didn't beat me as hard, although the lashes with the belt still stung. He kept on for a while and I was on the brink of starting to cry when he stopped.

I took a deep breath and hoped that it would be over. I wanted to hide, to pull something over my head and forget all about this.

'Yes, go ahead,' I heard my man say and immediately I felt a hand on my bottom. I jumped. I knew it was Jonathon who was touching me.

I gritted my teeth as I felt his hand caressing my aching bottom. I shivered as I felt him moving his fingers over my burning skin.

I wasn't prepared when he quickly slipped his fingers in between my thighs and into me. I cried out in shock and shame but Jonathon didn't hesitate. He kept his fingers in me and felt his way.

My heart was beating in agony as anger flashed through my mind. It all happened so quickly and I was so unprepared. I couldn't defend myself. He kept his fingers in me and I cried when I felt I couldn't keep my arousal down. Like the sudden assault of some hidden foe in an ambush it shocked my body and when it was there I couldn't resist it. I was helpless.

I squirmed as I came with the stranger's hand inside me. My body told me it was sweet but I was devastated. I felt used and abused and wanted to cry.

Later I was allowed to pull my clothes back up and I was even offered a place in the sofa and there we sat, all three of us having a polite and civilised conversation. Still we all knew that I had been leaning over a table just minutes before, knickers around my knees, spanked and fingered and shaming myself. It was the most surreal experience I had ever been through.

'How could you do this?' I cried at him when Jonathon had left. I was furious, hurt and very, very upset.

'Do what?' he said, pretending to be unknowing.

'You know what I mean.'

'Jonathon is my friend.'

'I don't know him.'

'Does it matter?'

'I matters to me.'

'Listen,' he said and looked me in the eyes, 'what makes you think your submission is a private matter? What makes you think you have the right to hide it from my friends?'

'But you let him touch me.'

'That is what I wanted him to do.'

I stood in silence, lost for words. I stared at him, tears in my eyes, heart beating hard. I wanted nothing of this. I wasn't coping.

'So this is what it means to be a woman at your feet?'

'Yes, this is what it means.'

'I don't think I can cope any more.'

He looked at me. I wondered what he was thinking. He looked full of thoughts. I could see he wasn't angry with me but I saw no sign of regret either.

'If you let me, I can help you.'

I stood in awe. That was something I hadn't expected him to say. His voice was gentle. He wanted to help me. He was firm about ruling me but he wanted to help me submit to him. It was a strange combination.

'Come here!' He held out his arms. I looked at him, still angry, still hurt, tears streaming down my face. But I longed for his touch.

I let him embrace me and hold me. I wondered if I let him defeat me, yet again, or if this was what I really wanted. Or if it was both.

He held me and stroked my cheek. I cried with abandon, like a child.

'I do love you. I love you so much. And I am so very proud of you.'

'But you want me to surrender to you,' I whispered.

'Yes, I want the whole of you, for me, because I love you.'

'You are an arrogant bastard, you know that.'

'I know.'

Surrender, part 19

The story goes on.

'Take your top off!'

I had just come inside his door and he had not even greeted me.

Obeying him had started to come naturally. I often hesitated, not because I didn't want to do what he said but because I had to figure out that I had been given an order.

There, in his hallway, I was taken aback. He sounded very harsh, nothing of his ordinary gentleness and kindness. No, this order was barked at me in a hard and demanding voice.

I was as frightened by his voice as by his demand as I took hold of my top and slipped it off. In an instant and in one movement and after one order I stood there topless in his flat.

'Turn around!'

I was more prepared now and turned around. For a second I feared he would open the door and push me out into the stairwell, topless.

Instead I felt him grab my wrists and cross them and soon I felt something like a rope encircle them. My heart started thumping when I realised I was being bound.

I had never been bound before. It was a strange and terrifying sensation to feel how my wrists were fastened together behind my back. All sorts of strange thoughts ran through my head. I had forgotten to scratch my nose and now I couldn't and how easy it was for him to touch me or even undress me.

'Wait there!' he said and turned around and left me in the hallway, bound and with bared breasts. I knew I should find it comical but I felt just surprised and a little deflated.

He left me there, standing in the hallway for a long time. I don't know what he did but I heard him move in the flat, beyond the door but he didn't come back. I stood there and waited and became a little annoyed with it. I tried to tell myself that I shouldn't. That I should try to accept what happened to me, accept that he had a plan for it, wanted something with it.

Finally he returned but he didn't say anything. He just grabbed me by the arm and dragged me into the living room.

'What is this all about?' I heard how angry I sounded.

'Silence!' he snapped and stared at me.

He stood me in the middle of the room and then he unceremoniously unbuttoned my skirt and pulled it down. My tights and my knickers followed suit.

I felt terribly humiliated by his causal and rash undressing of me. He just yanked my clothes down my hips and expected me to lift my feet and help him get them off me. I did but my heart was beating hard.

When I was stripped naked he snapped an order to kneel.

'Knees!'

I knew what he meant and spread my knees wide. My cheeks were flashing and I trembled with humiliation.

Then he left me again. He went into the kitchen and made some tea. He took his time and didn't return for a long while.

I was left in the living room, kneeling, naked, knees spread wide, hands tied behind my back, thinking. I reasoned with myself. I knew this was part of being the woman at his feet but I still felt intimidated by his harshness, his roughness and his disrespect for me.

I felt fed up with it all, wanted to get away, to rest, to think. I knew that this was how I had felt when he had spanked me the first time, how I had walked away from him, convinced that I would never ever accept a man who believed he had the right to punish me when he saw fit. I remembered, too, how I had missed him, how my heart had longed for him, so much that I had humiliated myself and accepted the dreadful canings.

I thought all my pride was gone, trampled into the ground, still it was pride that raged within me, pride that demanded respect for me and my will.

Eventually he came back with his tea, sat down in the armchair and poured himself a cup. I knelt facing him so he could have his tea and have a good look at me at the same time.

He took his time, didn't speak to me but poured another cup and drank it. I was shivering and felt miserable as he looked upon me.

'I like to have you like this, my pet,' he said and smiled for the first time this evening, 'naked and kneeling at my feet.'

'What have I done to deserve this?'

'Nothing.'

He looked me over, smiled and I squirmed as I imagined I could feel his gaze touch my body.

'You are angry, me pet, I can see that but you still obey me. I like that. You are making progress.'

Anger flashed through me, anger and shame. He was right. I did obey him, I didn't protest. I did exactly what he told me to do. He had defeated me, I had surrendered to him. Still my anger flowed through me.

He spoke of me like a child or even a real pet. I was still being trained. That was obvious and he chose to patronise me and talk about progress.

I wanted to cry out to him that I was a professional, I had achieved a doctorate, I was published and acclaimed. I was no pet who was to be complimented for her ability to kneel naked at a man's feet.

But I knew I was defeated. I knew I had surrendered. I did kneel naked at his feet and I had let him bind me. I knew he was right.

He knelt in front of me and touched me. I squirmed in agony as his fingers lit the fire and then withdrew. He smiled as he left me sitting there, my body shivering with the desire he had awakened.

I didn't speak. I waited in silence, trying to comprehend what it meant being so defeated as I was.

Later he raised me to my feet and led me to the bedroom. He laid me down on the bed and tied my feet together. I was naked and bound and totally defenceless. He gave me no mercy. His hands explored me and I cried in frustration, torn between the humiliation of being a captive being groped and the pleasure of feeling his hands on my body.

In his mercy he let me come. He could have left me in unfulfilled frustration but he rewarded me. I was grateful for that and as I looked up at his face I was uncertain which sensation dominated, the anger that he had shamed me thus or the joy for the blessing he had decided to give me.

From that moment I knew he was fully aware of what he was doing to me. He knew where my pride was and he constantly challenged it. He played a game with high stakes, at least they were high for me. He could easily have pushed me too far, made me so infuriated and hurt that I would have left forever.

Again that initial sense of total vulnerability came back. I wondered how he saw me. I knew he cared for me but what would it have meant had I left him? Would he just shrug his shoulders and think that I wasn't up to it. Did I mean as much to him as he meant to me? I had no defence against that thought. I was vulnerable and I knew that I would always be. The moment I admitted that he meant something to me, I was weak and easy to hurt.

He hadn't pushed me too far, not yet. But sometimes I was convinced he really tried to test my limits.

I was tired during those days. My mind was constantly in turmoil and I had very little rest from new and shocking discoveries. It was a period of transition and I could just about cope.

Surrender, part 18

I have been a little lazy. I usually try to post two posts on the blog each week but last week it was only one. I will try to do better but for now you will have to do with the next part of the Surrender story.

'There is one thing left to do before we leave.'

'What is that?'

'Go and lean over the table.'

'What?'

'You heard me.'

'The taxi will be here in no time.'

'There is still time.'

'But why?'

'Don't ask.'

He hadn't spanked me or done anything really unpleasant since he tried the spoon on me. In fact, bowing to him had been a smooth ride, easy to do, in a way. It had been a constant challenging of my prudishness but my own will to obey him had been enough. I had even begun to feel it as a kind of help for me. I felt his demanding me wearing this or that changed me and I wasn't sure it was altogether a bad thing.

This was harder. I knew I had said I'd do anything for him but I knew there was a limit. I also knew that I had some tough decisions to take when I reached that limit. I had been caned because I had decided he had the right to punish me and I feared that there would come other crunch times like that. I knew I would be more prepared but I feared them all the same.

I decided this was not the time. I walked over to the big oaken table an leaned over it, assuming the spanking position. I felt awkward, not at all in the mood to indulge his fascination with the subject. And I was scared.

'This is a tawse,' he said and held out a thick piece of leather, a couple of inches wide and some half a metre in length. At one end it was split down the middle. It looked brutal but I had no way of knowing how hard it was to be.

'Pull your dress up, now, darling.'

'Please, don't call me darling when you are going to beat me.' I heard how annoyed my voice was.

'But you are my darling, all the time.'

I pulled my dress up and felt a sudden thrill as I knew he was now looking at my barely covered bottom.

'There is another upside to string knickers. But I think you still should pull them down, just for good measure.'

I reached back and pulled down my tiny knickers, feeling my heart beat harder.

There was a strange kind of meanness in his demanding me to take my knickers down. There was no need, he could whip my bare buttocks anyway. He did it only to make sure I had to pull my knickers down, like a symbolic baring of me, so that I knew I was being undressed for the spanking.

He laid the tawse on me with some vigour and it hurt. It was not as vicious as the cane and quite different from the spoon but it was still quite painful.

I squirmed and held my breath as he spanked me with quick hard spanks and I felt that the pain soon became unbearable. I wriggled my hips and felt a surge of panic coming on.

Then he stopped. He let me compose myself before the assault started again. A new series of quick hard slaps landed on my bared bottom and I started to sob this time. It hurt and I felt so terribly put down by it. The pain was not unbearable but I felt humiliatingly exposed to it.

When he began the third series of smacks I felt my tears run down my cheeks. I surrendered to him. It was inevitable. I thought about the party and how it would be and why he spanked me now.

I was trembling as I pulled the knickers up and my dress down.

'Good thing I don't use make up.'

I had stopped using make up in my teens after attacks of rashes and running eyes. It made me look very pale and grey but that was the price I had to pay. I sometimes put a bit of lipstick on as I had tonight and sometimes a bit of mascara but I usually regretted it.

'Some cold water and the taxi ride and you will be as fresh as a rose.'

'My bottom won't.'

'That is the point.'

'What is the point?'

'So that you don't forget who is the boss. And to remind you that you will be nice to the guests at the party.'

'You think you have to spank me to make me nice? Am I really that horrible?'

He didn't reply, he just chuckled.

My bottom was burning as I sat in the taxi and I found it a relief to be able to stand up as we entered the restaurant where the big party was held.

It was a very glamorous occasion and I wasn't alone wearing a very skimpy outfit although most women were far more modest in knee long and very proper dresses.

I was presented as his girlfriend or partner and I was very proud. Although I was given my academic title no one seemed to be interested in that part of me. No, I was a partner, a hopefully decorative pendant to the man I was with.

I was not used to get that kind of attention. Some men smiled at me and some women sneered at me. At first I was offended by it but then I realised that they were a kind of compliments to me. At least if looking good was something to strive for. They knew nothing about me, what I had published or written or anything. They only saw my appearance and the gazes I got told me they liked what they saw. It was strange to be just a person, just a woman and being assessed on looks and appearance rather than other achievements.

I found all this both flattering and quite insulting. There was a part of me who felt intimidated by not being seen as someone with a brain, and at the same time there was something in me that was quite pleased with being a good enough pendant to the man who had brought me here.

I couldn't forget that I had been spanked just before arriving at the party. I had to sit down at the dinner and my bottom still smarted. I felt that it must shine through the fabric of my dress, that all and everyone could see that I was newly smacked.

My dress was so short that I was constantly worried it would ride up over my bottom and show off that I wasn't wearing proper knickers. And if my buttocks were shown anyone would see that they had been spanked. They were still red, I knew that.

I wondered if other women were as scantily clad as I was. I saw at least one other woman who I was sure wore no bra underneath her dress.

I knew my nipples was visible through the dress and I blushed as I saw how some men could not tear their eyes away from my bosom. I had never got so much attention to my breasts in all my life. I had always been a flat chested girl, trying to hide what I didn't have. Now my small bosom was on display and I could tell that some of the guests liked what they saw.

There was wine and drinks and although I tried to avoid it I became a tad tipsy after a while, and it all became something of a blur. I wasn't drunk, just floating in that sense of bliss the right amount of alcohol sometimes can bring you.

'Do you feel sexy?' he whispered in my ear when we were left alone for a short while.

'Yes, you bastard, I do.'

And in that moment I knew that the sense of embarrassment I felt for being dressed in clothes that revealed more than covered and walking around at the party with a burning bottom was not an altogether unpleasant sensation and that there was, indeed, a murmuring kind of arousal in it.

I looked at him as he looked out around the room and I saw on his face that smile that told me he enjoyed himself, that very private smile that made him so immensely attractive to me. It wasn't love I felt for him in that moment. There was something else, something very far from my books and lectures, something I never dared myself to feel.

I looked at him and saw how attractive he was, how sexy he was and how much I wanted him, how much I wanted him to have me. In that moment I wanted him to take me away and push me against the wall, pull my dress up and grope me. I wanted his hand to find its way down my knickers, into me. I wanted him to knead my breasts with that brutal eagerness I knew he had in him when he saw something he wanted. I wanted him to tear my dress down from my shoulders, strip me and have me.

'What is it?' he asked as he turned to me and saw how I stared at him.

I couldn't speak. I had to take a deep breath, gather my thoughts.

'I want you, I want you to take me.'

'You have no idea.' He smiled at me.

I had an idea and it made me blush. I knew I was changed. This world was not my world, I was only a guest but I felt deep inside me that I was changed. I did and said things I had no idea I was capable of and in that moment I liked it.

If I ever imagined it was a game, he constantly came up with things that made me see it wasn't. It was real for him, it concerned real emotions for him. And the way he made me feel made it sure that it was about real emotions for me too.