With thanks to Paolo of Wholebean and I
Sarah and Mark’s Story began here
Sarah took a deep breath, straightened her tie, and opened the door.
It was the same room they had used the previous night, but the atmosphere was dramatically different from the evening’s candle light. Now, the even wash of early morning sunlight filtered through clouds and the large windows illuminated the perfectly normal sitting room. He was different too, still the same mixture of intimidation and comfort, but, as with the room, seemed more like his usual self than a character created specifically for this encounter. He wore a crisp blue shirt over khaki pants in place of the black ensemble he had donned yesterday. He sat at the table with his laptop, sipping tea, as though she had merely been summoned to a business meeting.
As she took her seat from the night before, the heading in her copy book indicated that this was anything but a pleasant, routine meeting; he had entered the date followed by “Disciplinary Lesson.”
Without looking up from his screen, he began her instruction, “You will write ‘I must keep my school uniform clean at all times, I will be punished for failing to do so.’ Five times.”
She briefly thought back to the spilled coffee the previous evening. Of course he hadn’t let her off for that; he had merely delayed long enough to give her time to recover sufficiently to receive the attention the act required.
As she wrote her lines, she began to feel like the schoolgirl she was dressed to resemble. This was no carefully sculpted ritual as her last session had been. This was something more simple, something more real. She was here to be punished, and that was all. Though not quite a real punishment, not yet. She knew he wasn’t truly angry or upset with her, but nor was this a trivial excuse for another scene. It was a step closer than they had come before.
Her uniform felt more like a uniform now, rather than the costume she had donned before. More than just something aesthetic or a way to set the scene, it was a tool to help her connect with who she was when with Sir.
She squirmed in her seat, all too aware of the itchy tingling of her half-healed bottom. A quick glance across the room revealed the same set of implements he had used before. How different would it be today, when she was already sore? She finished writing and set the pen down with a consciously-steadied hand and wondered how long he would keep her waiting for an answer to that particular question.
Not long.
“Come here,” he ordered as he walked over to the sofa. He tipped her over his knee and began a hard spanking without prelude. His hand hurt, even through her skirt, but it was not unbearable- not yet. She clutched a throw pillow to her chest as she began struggling to stay still.
Sarah was nearly squirming off his lap when he ordered her up and into the corner. This too was a new experience. He didn’t pace behind her as he had done previously, an ominous stalking presence to keep her in line. After tucking her skirt into her waistband- an operation he conducted with practised dexterity and a businesslike manner before giving her a few more firm swats, he simply sat and typed, carrying on as if nothing unusual were happening. She was ust another naughty girl in the corner mid-punishment. No need to let that interfere with one’s daily routine. The matter-of-fact-ness of it all struck Sarah, and kept her in place more firmly than any dark guardian might have done. It wasn’t his presence keeping her there, it was her own nature, her own desire to do as he asked, to learn what he would teach.
Even thinking back afterwards, she did not know how long he kept her there before summoning her back to continue. A progression of implements followed, in much the same manner as they had the night before. Lines first, then positioning, smacks, and corner time before they cycle repeated again. It was a much crisper, clearer experience though. The sensation of each implement was similar, but amplified from what it had been before.
She knew that her pre-tenderised bottom intensified the experience, but wondered if he might be swinging harder as well. The stroke counts were the same as he had given before, but she had a much harder time taking them. She tried he best to stay quietly in position, as if afraid that he might go easy on her if she were to show signs of distress. Although she wasn’t able to maintain this resolve through her strapping, he nonetheless next announced that she would receive twenty strokes of the cane, just as before. There was to be no pity shown for clumsy schoolgirls in his classroom.
The table lurched and jumped with her through the twenty cuts, though they both survived the experience. She stood when allowed, expecting to be hugged and told it was over. He had other ideas, however,
“Seeing as how if was your clumsy hands that landed you here this morning, it is fitting that we end with strapped hands,” he said ominously as he picked up the strap.
Sarah hid her smile in a downward submissive gaze. Yes, she was in a good amount of pain, but this was still something special, still something she was happy to have him do to her. Still something that set the butterflies in her stomach into a flapping frenzy and shook her knees ever so slightly as she offered up her hand.
He delivered the blows slowly and precisely, each just a hair heavier than the last. As when he had used the strap elsewhere, she struggled to keep still as he delivered the last few swats before sending her into the corner to gently rub her hands on her head in a vain attempt to ease the pain even as she savoured it.
He hugged her to end her banishment, a hug just as warm as the one before, but not one that preceded a winding down, but a prelude to the day. It didn’t lead to a peaceful cuddle and film before bed.
Instead, it lead to breakfast.
She squirmed on the hard stool as he made eggs and toast, but otherwise they shared their morning meal just as many others did in many other households, others that could never fathom the way the two of them had chosen to start their day.
They chatted idly, as did many others- though how many others were idly discussing the merits of the strap over the cane?
They sat and read together, almost like a normal couple sharing a newspaper and views on the events of the day. Except they read spanking blogs. The news was much less depressing and the debates much more lively.
To be continued
Acknowledging Imperfection 