With thanks to Paolo of Wholebean and I
Sarah and Mark’s Story began here
It had been a long day at work, though that was hardly unusual. She had only just started in her new position, and they were still testing her. Today had been a trial by fire, and by the time she headed home she was feeling rather crispy.
She checked her phone as she walked up to her door and stopped in her tracks when she saw the message waiting.
It was from Him.
Just as he had promised in his good-night message yesterday, he had laid out in plain, detailed language what she could expect when next they met. When things would get more. . .involved.
It would happen on Friday. “Friday!” she thought, “it will be so rushed, getting the train after work, by the time we get down to . . .it, the night would be nearly over.”
She paused and almost laughed out loud. She had been so anxious to get on with this, and here she was wanting to postpone things already to some imaginary time when everything was convenient. Shaking her head at her own silliness, she returned to his message.
It started pleasantly, lovingly. He described her as he had seen her. She must have made a very good impression. He knew that she craved discipline, and he would provide it. He would help her, guide her as she entered this world. Even through e-mail his kindness, gentleness, and keen perception shone through. As with all of his messages, she couldn’t help but feel cared for as she read whatever he had sent.
He went on to describe The Encounter. He would be waiting for her when she arrived, waiting to spirit her away to the shiny new hotel on the outskirts of town for this great adventure. He described the procedure. She would kneel on the bed, prostrate herself before him, address him as Sir, offer herself for punishment. It was written directly, abruptly, and would have almost seemed insulting had she not known the voice behind the words. Imagining them spoken in his voice, these commands were easy to imagine obeying.
She would dress in black. This was a simple enough request, and one that she would gladly follow, even though a quick mental inventory of her wardrobe told her that a shopping trip might be in order. It was an elegant colour, a flattering colour, and one with a distinct symbolism for this occasion. He had told her when they met earlier for drinks that this experience would change her, transform her into something that deep inside she already was. It would be the death of her former self, a step into a new way of being.
She would wear stockings. This was new to her. She had somehow skipped the stage where girls were supposed to figure these things out. She remembered how her friend Murphy had laughed the first time they went shopping together. She had been shocked by how much she did not know, but Murphy had been a patient and understanding guide. She had introduced her to the world of pretty, frilly under-things. She couldn’t help by giggle a bit when she imagined Murphy’s reaction to the requested outfit for this encounter. Murphy liked her colours and bows, but Sarah had always preferred simple, sleek elegance. Murphy’s influence could be clearly seen with a glance at the more intimate sections of her wardrobe, but black was still the dominant colour there (albeit with a bit more lace and frills than before). She would be able to indulge herself for this encounter, and felt a mixture of relief and elation that she had found someone who might share those tastes.
Stockings, though. . .this was new. Murphy had mentioned these, but had not yet covered them in her “girly lessons.” It would be a challenge then, a quest to find and figure this out on her own. She began making plans for how to go about this before realizing that she still had many more instructions to read.
He would spank her.
Of course he would, that was the whole point of contacting him in the first place. But even knowing this, the words sent a shiver through her as she stood in the soft rain. He would start over her skirt, then her panties, then on the bare. A gradual unveiling to gradually introduce her to his palm, to prolong the experience, to savour each milestone.
He would send her to the corner, a short exile to absorb the experience, a simple yet deep form of bondage holding her under his control as she waited for the next part of her punishment.
He would slap her hands. She shivered again. She had told him about this punishment that fascinated her for unknown reasons. He would indulge her here, show her what it was like when it was real. True, he had spoken of this at their first meeting, but there was something about seeing the words written down, an electronic prophesy, that made it more real.
He would use the paddle. Had he guessed her special affinity for this implement? It might not have been hard; she was American and had to admit to holding true to that particular stereotype even if she shunned many others. Or maybe he had just decided that would be a suitable implement to test her with on this first occasion. It would follow the same progression as the spanking, getting closer and closer to the skin.
He would spend the night with her. She was relieved at this. She had been too afraid to ask before. She didn’t want to be alone after. Had he guessed? Or was she perhaps just normal in that respect? Either way, she was grateful; she knew he had other obligations, knew he had his own family waiting for him. Even separated from his wife, nights away still involved expense and planning.
He would spank her again the next morning before breakfast. One last reminder to be good, a last reminder of what would happen should they decide to meet again.
And then they would talk. Even this excited her, even as she knew she would be fumbling to find words to describe her half-understood reaction to the experience. It would be their last few hours together, and she was determined to make the most of it, even if it would be embarrassing to relive the previous night as they talked it over.
The message ended. She took a deep breath and tilted her face up to the rain, absorbing the impact of his proposal.
Taken as a whole, she was struck by the adultness of the entire ensemble, the entire procedure, he had proposed. There would be no hiding behind the persona of a schoolgirl, no atonement for imagined crimes. It would just be him and her, as they were. There would be discipline, and it would be real. It would be hers, earned and well-deserved. A punishment for suppressing herself. But there was more- the clothing, the positioning, the progression of the punishment. It would be a disciplinary meeting, there was no doubt there, but there was also an undeniable sensual element of it, an element she liked to pretend did not exist. This would be a very thorough introduction.
She read his message again. And again. She was halfway through her third reading when she realized that she was still standing on her own doorstep, dripping wet despite her small umbrella and starting to shiver for entirely different reasons. She put her phone away; the message would still be there, and would be read many more times. Fishing out her keys, she unlocked the door and stepped through the threshold.
To be continued
Acknowledging Imperfection 