Sarah and Mark’s story began here
With thanks to Paolo of Wholebean and I
“Gah!” Sarah cried out and stuck her singed fingertips in her mouth. She cursed her clumsiness as she hopped back and forth, trying to soothe the burn and return the wayward onion bits to the pan. She thought back to one of Sir’s many gentle lectures from his last visit.
“Why are you clumsy?” he had asked.
“I don’t know, I just am,” she had replied with a smile. She had accepted this as part of herself, just how she was. No point in worrying overmuch; it wasn’t going to change and if she could accept it with a shrug and a joke she could get by.
“Are you sure?” he asked, holding her eye with a serious expression.
Sarah stilled, wondering where he was going with this.
“In my experience,” he continued now that he had her full attention, “clumsiness often has to do with lack of focus, with having too many things on your mind. Slow down, stop and think and keep your mind on what you are doing. You might be surprised.” With a smile, he casually changed the subject to something less intense, seeming to know that he had given her quite enough to ponder for one night.
Running her singed fingers under the tap, she realised he was correct, at least in this case. But then again, cooking was supposed to be a distraction for her today. Sir had originally planned to be here with her today, but real life in the form of a cold had pulled him away prematurely. Sarah had been left with a squandered holiday and no plans. She had even considered going into the lab that day anyway; it would certainly keep her mind occupied, but how would she explain it? Instead she stayed at home, unable to even meet with her pub friends as everything was closed for Good Friday. Even the library had shut its doors for the day, leaving her mulling in post-end-of-good-book depression with no new fictional adventures to begin.
Cooking seemed like a good, and possibly the only, alternative. She had made a large stew earlier that morning, which was now freezing to be enjoyed later that month. Such things were often better reheated anyway, giving the flavours time to settle.
Sarah wondered if the same were true for her and Mark. Their time together was intense, and even aside from the spanking part he had given her a lot to think about. He was an excellent mentor, no doubt about that, and while she would have liked to receive more frequent feedback, she had to admit that he had imparted several lessons during his brief visit that would take time to mull over.
This clumsiness and focus thing, for example, she thought as she turned her attention back to the pan of onions, concentrating on frying them safely. She managed to complete the task with no further injury, sighing with relief as she tipped the browned onions into the chilli pot, giving it a thorough stir.
It was finally starting to smell like chilli, she thought as she replaced the lid.
He certainly had love for good food, reminiscing often about favourite restaurants and discussing the things he liked to cook. He appreciated the layers of flavours, each complimenting the others while building depth in a dish.
He seemed to spank the same way, never a single implement, never a quick session, but always with layers unfolding upon layers adding complexity to the event.
The more she thought of it, the more the analogy seemed to fit.
He always started with a hand spanking- an amuse-bouche. A small taste of what was to come, and yet packed with more feeling than should be the case for an “implement” with so little bite. She was always shocked at the pain he could cause with just his hand. It was often the most pain she felt during a session, as her bottom was completely unprepared for this first onslaught.
And there was the comfort of being over his knee for this portion, the gentleness of his arm wrapped around her waist incongruous with the discomfort his other arm was causing.
He would then move to the hairbrush, a salad course if there ever was one. It was crisp and sharp, and not something she enjoyed. Just a step of the process to be endured, a preparation of the palate for the other things he had in store.
The slipper. Or should that be “slippers”? There were three of them he had used on her, and while they were undoubtedly from the same family of implement, the differences in texture and sting were remarkable. Rather like a cheese plate, the flavours of each of the implements were worth pondering and savouring, even if the ache they left was rarely as substantial as the heavier fare he had in store for her next.
His new paddle, for instance, with its three evil holes. Its cousins in vanilla households may be used for portioning pasta, but in her mind this was a meat course. It was all heaviness and thud, even if it looked small and harmless in his hand. It imparted a deep ache to go with its sting, and left her satisfied and not necessarily in the mood for anything more.
But there was more- his tawse. It was still a treat for her, even now that he was using it more forcefully. She always looked forward to this portion of her spankings. It was her dessert; no matter how sore his previous attentions had left her, she would be more than willing to suffer a bit more if it meant she would feel the tawse.
In her mind, the meal could end there, leaving her with the sweet sensations of the strap. But it never did.
There was the cane.
A stiff drink to end the experience. Harsh and biting, and yet an appropriate sensation with which to end the experience. The thought of the implement sent shivers through her even now. As with the others, he had laid his strokes more heavily this last time. It had been hard to bear, and yet she knew there was still more to come. It had marked her more than it had before, but even a day later the lines were barely visible.
Yes, there were many more new things to taste indeed. Though she was sore enough for the time being- perhaps it was a good thing that Mark left early after all.
Acknowledging Imperfection 