When Least Expected

For those about to give up hope. S/he’s out there. Keep looking.

The fifty-shaders were beginning to wear on his nerves. Sure, he had to admit that the books had driven some genuinely submissive individuals out of the woodwork, but he wondered whether it was worth it, considering what else had been dredged up in the process. After this afternoon’s experience, he had all but decided to skip the rest of the year’s munches until the invading army of only mildly-curious but overly-loud newbies either settled in or shipped out.

At least the excursion wasn’t a total waste. He’d taken the opportunity of being on the other end of town to check out a new restaurant, and judging by the decor and menu, it alone was worth the trip. The service, however, left something to be desired.

“I believe the soup was supposed to come with bread, or at the very least a spoon” he reminded the passing waitress. Reminded her for the second time, he thought impatiently as she nodded absently on her way past.

“There’s one that could do with some proper discipline,” he muttered to himself.

“Sir?” he heard from over his shoulder. Covering his start of surprise by putting on his sternest impatient-customer face and growled as politely as he could manage. “The bread please, and a spoon would do nicely as well”

Her look of shock and confusion turned to a blush of embarrassment as she hurried off. “Right away, sir,” she assured him.

Turning back to his book, he felt a bit embarrassed himself. He hadn’t meant for her to overhear, but in his frustration the statement had just slipped out. Still, her reaction was encouraging. Perhaps, just maybe. . .

No. It was his wishes running away with him again, just as they had with Lana earlier that evening. She had been cute enough, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as she plopped down next to him and eagerly kicked up a conversation about spanking.

She had been too giggly though, laughing wholeheartedly when he gave her the Look. She was not affected, none of them ever were, but there was no hint of uncertainty in her laugh, no subtle fear of impending discipline. It wasn’t what she was wanted, he decided. She, like so many of the other newbies, just wanted vague threats and kinky sex. Nothing wrong with that, but not what he was looking for.

At the earliest opportunity he excused himself, silently swearing as he walked out the door that he would never again attend one of these munches. He knew there were submissive women out there; he had had the distinct pleasure of encountering a few exemplary specimens in his time, but it was becoming clear that this was not the way to find them. These events drew out the kink community, though the conversation got so rowdy that if ever someone he considered to be a true submissive wandered into their midst, she was more likely to become silent and frightened than she was to engage. The type of submission he was looking for was not the type that one could shout about across crowded pubs, even if the crowd was of like-minded munch types. It was something one could only whisper in the dark, and only after months, years, of searching and questioning. Not something one simply tries on for size after reading a titillating book.

“Your bread, sir, and a spoon,” her words brought his mind back to the meal. He looked up to see her set the basket down, the gesture forcing her into a slight bow. She seemed to linger in that position for a touch longer than necessary, though it might have just been his imagination.

“Is there anything else you require, sir?” she asked. He smiled a bit at the title. He know it was just politeness required by her occupation, but he still enjoyed the title.

“Not for now, thank you,” he dismissed her. With a slight dip and what might have been a lingering questioning glance, she left him to his food.

It was his mind playing tricks on him, he decided, as he tried to rid his mind of images of the waitress bent over before him. He needed to find a submissive woman, a truly submissive woman, with whom to indulge these desires. A woman who had the same desires but from the other side, someone with whom he could drop his carefully controlled politically correct exterior, someone who was not afraid of his darker side. Well, maybe a bit afraid, but only delightfully so.

His mind wandered back to Tara as he ate. She had been quite the surprise. After hiding his dominant impulses for his entire life, she had drawn them out of him, shown him the exquisite pleasure of exerting control. Slowly, gradually, safely, but with the hint of danger and responsibility of having another body and soul completely entrusted to him for as long as they were able to be together.

Tara had been no glamour model, but when she was turned over his knee, arching her back in anticipation of discipline, she was more beautiful than any queen. He would have stayed with her forever, but the universe had decided that their careers would take them to opposite ends of the earth. He wondered where she was now, and hoped that she had found someone else worthy of the incredible gift she had shared with him.

“Is there anything else you require, sir?” Her voice brought him back to the restaurant yet again, though one glance at her sent his mind reeling with other fantasies.

“Just the bill, please,” he asked. Judging by the soup, delicious even when lukewarm, he would have enjoyed having a proper meal here, though he decided he would be better off eating somewhere he could be less distracted. He had no hope of burying his darker thoughts with this particular woman looking after him.

“Your bill, sir,” she told him, laying it on the table. “Are you sure there is nothing else you require?”

“No, thank you, this will be fine,” he said, quickly rifling through his wallet for the correct change, not wanting to prolong his time here any longer than necessary.

“If you forgive my forwardness, sir, I thought I heard you ask for something a while back. . . after the mix-up with the bread, the delay with your cutlery. . .” she trailed off, glancing down at the floor.

Hardly daring to believe what he was seeing, he paused, examining her more closely. How clearly had she heard him?

“There is a pub across the street. I’m going for a drink. If you want to know, come find me after your shift. Be warned, it may not be something you want, and will certainly not be pleasant.” Vague enough, he figured. Should give her plenty to think on but not compromise him. It was her decision now, whether to follow him or not. She could go on dreaming of dark shadowy men all she liked if she wished, it made no difference to him. He slipped into his coat as he headed for the door, fully expecting to never see her again.

“Ten, sir,” he heard from behind him. He turned to see that she had followed him to the door, casting her eyes to the floor after meeting his for a mere second. “My shift ends at ten,” she reiterated before returning to work.

A slow pint later, he watched ten o’clock come and go. She had not turned up. He was not surprised. He drained the last of his porter and set the empty glass on the bar and stood to leave. As he turned to the door his breath caught. She was here. Fidgeting and clearly nervous, but here. He allowed himself a small smile as he walked over to her.

“You came,” he said, searching her face.

“Yes,” she replied quietly, adding with a slight shrug, “I was curious. I thought you said something about my needing. . . “ she trailed off, studying the floor again.

“Discipline,” he finished for her. “I had said that you needed discipline.” He let the words hang between them, waiting for her inevitable indignant reaction.

It never came. She made no reply, but also made no move to leave. Curious, he thought to himself. “Would you join me for a drink?” he asked in a much friendlier voice than he had used earlier.

“Of course,” she replied, moving toward the bar with him, staying close.

He pulled out a stool for her, extended a hand to help her up, and ordered a round. They made small talk over their drinks, or, more accurately, he made small talk until she relaxed enough to answer some of his questions. Gradually, gently, he pulled her story out of her. A girl from the countryside, she had come to the city for college, and had been elated to land a relatively lucrative waitressing job by student standards at one of the city’s best new restaurants.

“And you are not repulsed by the idea of discipline,” he slipped in casually once she had relaxed sufficiently. He saw her shoulders tense slightly, but she did not pull away. Promising.

“Not necessarily,” she replied, not quite meeting his eye. Very promising.

“Why do you think you need discipline?” he asked in a light tone, though the matter was far from light.

“I forgot about the bread,” she said, sticking to facts. Another good sign.

“Yes, and why was that?” he prompted.

“I don’t know,” she offered too quickly. He gave her time. “I just forgot. My memory is horrible,” she added to fill the silence.

“I don’t think so,” he said encouragingly. “You remembered just fine now. You seem to be a very intelligent young lady, more than capable of handling the demands of waitressing. I think the behaviour requiring correction has something to do with focus, not memory. Would you agree?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied with a slight blush. He smiled at the return of the title, the first time she had used it with him freely rather than as simple politeness to a customer.

“Focus is completely within your control,” he continued. “If it were up to me, I would give you a reminder. It would be painful, but it would help you.” He watched her carefully, and still saw no sign of retreat.

“If you think so, sir,” she replied quietly.

“I would spank you,” he clarified bluntly. Her blush deepened and she shifted slightly, but still made no move to leave.

“If you think I deserve it,” she answered, quieter still.

He drew a slow breath. Tread carefully, he reminded himself.

“I think it would help you, if you are open to the idea, but this is not something to rush into. This is not a quick bit of fun I am speaking of. If you consent, it will be discipline. It will hurt, but it will change you.” He paused to withdraw a business card from his wallet, scratching his address on the back. “Think it over. If you are willing, meet me here tomorrow after you get out of work.” He handed the card as he rose. “Either way, think about what we’ve discussed. You have great potential, and if you improve your focus you will go far.” With a smile and chaste kiss to the top of her head, he departed.

The next evening, he was a nervous wreck. She wouldn’t come, he told himself as he made a pot of tea. She didn’t need this. It had been a lovely evening, but would ultimately come to nothing more than a poignant memory of what might have been.

As he raised the cup to his lips, the doorbell rang.

Just a neighbour, surely. . . but it was very late for an unannounced social call.

He opened the door to find her standing there, dripping slightly in the soft spring rain. A broad smile leapt across his face at the sight of her, almost quaking with nerves, but here nonetheless. “Come in,” he offered warmly. “Can I get you a cup of tea?”

He could hardly believe his luck, and her courage, as he invited her to join him on the sofa. He kept the conversation light as they drank, again supplying most of it himself to start. It took much time and patience and tea, but she did relax. Once she began to laugh freely as they swapped stories, he brought up the reason for her visit.

“You came. I am impressed. Do you remember why I asked you here?” he draped an arm around her shoulders as he asked the question. He felt the wave of tension pass through her, but rather than pulling away she leaned into him.

“Yes, sir,” she answered. He waited, silently rubbing her arm in support. It would be difficult for her to admit, but the next step was hers to take. If she still wanted to take it. “You said you would spank me,” she added after a long pause. “You said you would spank me for my lack of focus.”

“And is this what you want me to do?” he asked gently.

“Yes. . .no. . .I mean. . . I think it would help. Like you said, right?” she looked up at him with pleading eyes, though he could not tell if she was pleading for the spanking or simply an end to the questions.

“Have you been spanked before?” he asked, not ready to spare her yet.

“No, sir,” she admitted.

“It will hurt,” he told her yet again. “For it to be effective discipline, it will hurt more than you want it to. But, for it to be effective discipline, you have to allow it to. You have to consent. Otherwise it is just violence, pain without purpose.”

He removed his arm from her shoulders and sat back. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. You can’t possibly, not until you’ve experienced it. You need to know, and know deeply, that you can leave at any time. This can stop whenever you decide, but if you’re the one to stop it, it will not be discipline.”

“I understand,” she said, looking up to hold his gaze for the first time since he had introduced this topic.

“Very well. Lay across my lap,” he instructed in a tone that was not to be disobeyed. Caught up in his spell, she complied.

He rested his hand on her behind. “I will start over your skirt, but you will be bare before I finish. If you want to leave, just tell me to stop.”

“Yes, Sir,” came her breathy reply.

He began to spank. Tentatively at first, watching her closely. The spanks could not have felt like much- probably did not even sting slightly. She kept still over his knee, and he increased the force and pace of the spanking until she began twitching slightly.

Pausing, he rubbed her behind and gave her a moment to process the experience. “Do you wish to continue?” he asked with a sharper slap, a taste of what was to come.

“Yes, Sir,” came her reply, more clearly than before.

Slowly, he raised her skirt, listening for her gasp as she realised what was happening. He rubbed her briefly as she got used to the idea before resuming the spanking. He started softly again, though he could tell from her slight movements that she was feeling it this time. She began to squirm a bit more forcefully as he spanked harder, but put up no real fight.

He rested his hand against her bottom again, rubbing gently and feeling the warmth he had created. “Do you still wish to continue?” he asked again.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered, and he could hear a touch of strain in her voice this time.

“You know what is to come?” he asked, running a finger along the waistband of her panties to remind her.

“Yes, Sir,” she answered with a shiver that set the tiny hairs on her back standing on end.

She lifted her hips as he drew down the garment, exposing the warm glow he had ignited in her cheeks. He didn’t pause to savour the moment, instead getting on with the disciplinary potion of her spanking. There were no soft spanks this time as he struck her forcefully and quickly. She emitted a sharp squeal at the first stroke that grew in pitch and volume as he continued. As her legs began to kick more forcefully, he grasped her waist tightly to keep her in place as he rounded out the spanking with ten particularly hard and slow swats. When he finished she lay gasping over his knee. He stroked her gently as she composed herself before pulling her up into a hug. She clung to him as her tears continued to flow for several long minutes.

“You needed that, didn’t you?” he asked as he held her, feeling her nod into his shoulder in reply. “Will it help you remember to focus?”

“Yes, Sir,” she murmured softly.

“Good girl,” he told her as he stroked her back. “It will help, I know. Though you’ll find that you may need a refresher now and then. I will be here when you do. Do you still have my card?” he asked. She nodded, pulling away from him just far enough to look back at him.

“Good,” he smiled. “You took a big step tonight, and it will take some time to understand. Call me whenever you need to. A spanking may seem like a discrete event, but in actuality it extends beyond the end of the physical act. My obligations to you don’t end tonight, though there will be no more spanking tonight,” he reassured her. “Would you care for more tea?” she nodded eagerly, and he went to prepare the beverage.

They talked late into the night, until he was sure she had recovered from the experience sufficiently for the night. Despite the lateness of the hour, he was sorry to see her go. Her lingering good-night hug, however, told him it would not be long before she returned.

6 thoughts on “When Least Expected

  1. First, let me laud you for a well written short story. A human interest story, if you will. There are four things we must take from relationships that make us human, I read. Learning to say thank you, asking to be forgiven, forgiving and saying I love you. Your story is what Mentoring is all about. It shows that caring discipline is a very human need and that reaching out and touching someone can include a good spanking! And it is attainable – sometimes when you aren’t actively searching for it (remember a bowl of fruit has many different offerings). Too bad we are not born with visual or auditory (or olfactory for that matter) indicators that would make the *search* less random or haphazard a process. My wife told me, she had to kiss a lot of frogs… But I think she was only stroking my ego. For my life; I thank her, I forgive her (anything), I ask to be forgiven and I love her.

    1. Thank you for a particularly lovely comment!

      Some sort of compatability cue would be helpful, though it would ruin the pleasant surprise when things do work out.

      And, if nothing else, kissing (spanking?) frogs can make for a good story later!

  2. On the topic of compatibility – I think more men (boys) suffer from fear of rejection (failure) then due women (girls). I grew up with sisters and they seemed to feel any boy that would reject them had lost out, while I shied away from attempting that, that had a chance at failing when it came to early relationship start ups. Eventually I came to attain my sister’s outlook and became really obnoxious (for a period of time) as testosterone kicked in without a limiting factor. But if we had some biological tag and it was tempered with a degree of intellectual review; don’t you think we we have to spank a lot less frogs?

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