Intensive Coursework: Too Much, Too Soon

Sarah’s story began here

 

Sarah sank back into the sofa and marvelled at the transformation her apartment had undergone. Scarcely two days ago the floor had been all but buried and her current perch had been obscured by an imposing double mattress.  Now, the bed had been reassembled, the sawdust and stray screws rounded up, the rest of the floor not only unearthed but freshly hoovered.

 

It fielt different, and very nice. It would be nicer if she could muster up the energy to do this more often, but ever since she had moved out of her parents’ house it was only the threat of houseguests that spurred on a bout of cleaning.

 

Not only for her home, but for herself as well. Sarah frisked her freshly flat-fried hair out of her eyes with a smile. It was better this way, even if the straightening process presented more than a fair risk of burns to her clumsy fingers and ate up the better part of a hour.  She was getting better at it; she’d had plenty of practice even if it was only done for special occasions. Lately many of those occasions had involved meeting Him.

 

She mentally replayed what she remembered of her last conversation with Stephen in the pub. She had been so taken with him, and was relieved and excited and not at all scared when he had asked if he wanted to see him again and if, perhaps, she would like him to spank her.

 

Her solemn “yes, Sir,” had sparked a series of emails covering everything from driving directions to lodging logistics, to an extended discussion of how the spanking portion of the evening might progress.

 

Stephen had emphasised that this was to be her night, not his.  Although she wanted to take advantage of this, she knew that it would not often be all up to her in the future, she found herself woefully unable to come up with anything concrete.  She just didn’t have enough experience. She just didn’t know, precisely what sort of spanking she would respond to. She had conjecture, she had fantasised that she shared readily, but knew reality would be different. She was willing to admit when she had no background, was willing to try things she hadn’t yet done, but she didn’t know how she would react. She just didn’t know.

 

He had been very patient with her, even as he asked question after question. It was part checklist, textbook bdsm get-to-know you details- experience and limits and safewords and the like- and part tender and understanding and appreciative of her honesty and openness.  She had looked forward to his messages more and more eagerly as the date approached.

 

She noticed that he did the odd capitalisation- D/s Me/you-  thing that had always seemed a bit tedious. It was something she avoided, preferring to adhere to standard rules of grammar and punctuation, but eventually gave in when she remembered to do so. If it mattered to Him, she saw no reason not to play along. She did her best to look over anything she wrote to Him and found herself almost enjoying the small exercise in respect. She did try using lower case for herself, but found it looked just a bit too odd and was strangely uncomfortable. I’s were meant to be capitalised, and looked too cutesy if they were not.  She tried it again as she sent him a brief text confirming his arrival time.  It still didn’t feel right. Was it a sign of some sort? As fascinated as she was by Him, as comfortable as He had made her feel when they had met for drinks, she still barely knew him.  The thought of spending the night with him was intoxicating, but was she ready? Was this right?  Sarah had shook off the feeling, recapitalised her I’s and sent the mail off.

 

She had continued to try to use uppercase for Him, but knew she missed more than a few. If He noticed, He didn’t comment, for which she was relieved.

 

She was alerted to His latest reply by the soft buzzing vibration of her phone to which she had become sensitised over the last few days. Usually the subtle sensation failed to alert her to whoever it was seeking attention, but for the last week such was her fanatic obsession with his messages that her response time had improved considerably.

 

This time it wasn’t even a text, but the beginning of a phone call ring. Sarah smiled as the ringtone kicked in; she couldn’t remember the last time she’d picked up her phone before the sound had crescendoed annoyingly.

 

“Hello, Sir,” she greeted him.

 

“I’m here,” was his reply.  There may have been more to it, but she was rushing to the door and not quite capable of both listening and walking at the same time.  It didn’t matter, she was downstairs and next to his car before his door opened, waiting with an eager hug and a quick kiss to receive him as he stepped out.  She offered to help him carry his things, but he refused as she knew He would.

 

Sitting across from him on the sofa with a glass of wine a few moments later, any doubts she had were far from her mind. Regardless of how the rest of the evening went, he had a way of making her smile that warmed her to the core.  Even their early-evening talk of work and weather was deeply enjoyable, and the interruption to walk out to dinner was almost regrettable.

 

Dinner, as always, was lovely, though for once Sarah was relieved that none of her colleagues had chosen to eat out that night. The restaurant was one of the company’s favourite spods, and although Sarah knew she would eventually encounter an acquaintance there, she thanked the gods who looked over such things for sparing her this night; she had enough on he mind for now. The deities concerned had even seen fit that she would be seated at one of Arthur’s tables, and although he gave her a few questioning looks as he took in her new companion she knew he would be discrete.

 

They ordered some of her favourite dishes to share, but she could barely taste them, lost as she was in His words, words she couldn’t even recall afterwards. All she knew was that they had talked of normal things, close as they were to the diners at either side. It was a refreshing break, after all their earlier talk of spanking. Sarah tried to pretend that they were merely getting together to share a meal as friends before a quiet night. She might have succeeded too, but memories of their plans and anticipation for the evening was never far from the surface of her thoughts.

 

They came bubbling up all too easily at the end of the meal.  In her nervousness, she’d sipped tentatively from his cappuccino when Arthur had accidentally set her espresso in front of him and his coffee before her.  “You’ll pay for that,” he chided playfully.  Even delivered with a smile, the playful scolding made her sit up a bit straighter.  When the bill was paid a few moments later, she had no trouble deciding that there would be no post-dinner pub visit this night. The time had come.

 

Her apartment felt different when they returned.  Nothing had changed, and yet anticipation coloured the space.  He suggested another glass of wine, and she was only too happy to agree.  A slight delay was most welcome.

 

He gestured for her to have a seat. She obeyed him, though it felt odd to be served in her own home.   He joined her shortly with a pair of wine glasses and a bag.  “I brought several things with me,” he explained, “not all of which will be relevant to us tonight.”

 

Sarah sat up to pay attention as he unpacked, and was soon grateful for his warning on the contents.  Although the thought or cuffs and gags was intriguing, she was decidedly not ready for that sort of thing. There was plenty he had brought which would fit into her ideas of how the night would pan out, particularly a long double-layered strap. Sarah had never seen such an implement and touched it tentatively, her fascination evident.

 

“We can use that tonight,” he promised.

 

They reviewed the details of the upcoming “scene”- the word still felt foreign to her- one last time over the wine before he took her empty glass and set it safely off to the side.

 

“Are you ready?” Stephen asked.

 

Sarah noded eagerly. “I’ll go get changed.”

 

“I need to move a bit of furniture,” he told her as she headed off to change.

 

“That’s fine- do whatever you need. I’ll knock when I’m ready.”

 

“You’ll knock?” he said, his expression turning deliciously dark, “You’d better knock young lady.”

 

Sarah blushed and turned toward her room, trying to focus her task on getting into the schoolgirl outfit that had lain largely neglected for the last several months.  Perhaps she was out of practice, but it seemed to take even longer than she remembered to get into the thing. Why were there so many buttons, and why were they so tight?  Why was it that she could tie a tie perfectly well on her own, but a presence a few yards away made the task all but impossible for her trembling fingers?

 

When she had finished, Sarah paused to listen for noise from the next room, but heard nothing. Whatever he had been doing had clearly not taken as long as she’d needed to change. Taking a deep breath, she approached the sitting room door and knocked softly.  He kept her waiting almost long enough to become uncomfortable before calling her in, where she waited again, shifting her weight slightly until he deigned to look up to her.  “Have a seat,” he instructed, gesturing to the chair he had placed on the opposite side of the table which had been dragged into the middle of the room.

 

Again, she sat awkwardly for longer than she would have liked before he looked up to her from his reading. “I am trying to run a school here, and your attitude has been entirely unacceptable.”

Oh, thought Sarah, attitude. How does one do that?  She could hardly be contrite from the onset when being called out for such a thing. She crossed her arms across her chest, tried unsuccessfully to slouch down, and made a passable attempt at rolling her eyes.

 

“What will it be the, detention?” she asked, trying her best to appear bored.

 

“Oh, nothing of the sort,” he responded with a slight chuckle.  “I have something else in mind and. believe you me, I will sort out that attitude.”

 

“Fine,” Sarah replied, feeling less and less comfortable with her adopted role.  “Can I leave?”

 

“No you may not,” came his sharp response.  “Stand up.”

 

Sarah stood, trying not to look over at him as he circled behind her.  “Hands on the table,” he instructed.

 

Sarah knew full well what he meant by that, but instead carried on in her defiant role, resting her fingertips on the near edge.

 

“Step back,” he commanded, his voice becoming firmer.  Sarah obeyed and inched back.  “Further,” he said in a threatening tone, and Sarah attempted to position herself more suitably for what they both knew was to come. Even with the foreknowledge that their earlier discussion provided, she felt an involuntary gasp escape her lips when he briskly whisked her skirt up out of the way. She felt a rough hand grasp the back of her neck, forcing her into a more compliant position bent further over the table.

 

The strap sang into her bottom with the same splitting song she had loved to hate so long ago. It sang louder now than she, and whether it was from excess of nerves, lack of recent conditioning, or simply from a greater force applied she neither knew nor cared.  She had all but begged him for an intense start, and he had certainly delivered.  He followed the first stinging blow with a second, hardly allowing her to recover before adding to her shock and pain.  Sarah felt tears prick the corner of her eyes and was genuinely surprised at the sensation. As difficult as she had found the role, something was clearly getting to her.  As the strap landed harshly yet again, she mused that it might be purely the pain that had brought on this effect, but though the blows were difficult to take from the onset, she’d endured far worse in her longer sessions. This was nothing she couldn’t handle.

 

As the strap visited her bottom again and again, she began to reconsider that notion and the tears began to flow more freely. Perhaps she had indeed asked for too much, and thought on using her safeword. Before she had made up her mind to it, the strapping paused, and she heard a rustle of movement behind her.  She felt him at her side, a soft and strong presence as he wrapped an arm around her, supporting and comforting even as she knew that it would surely bring a new dose of pain.

 

He did not keep her waiting long, renewing the assault on her bottom with an open hand, the sensation stinging, but mostly warm after the sharp bite of the strap.  Sarah felt herself relaxing into him as the spanking continued.  He had promised to change her opinion of hand spanking, which she had heretofore always assumed with sharp and unpleasant warmup spankings, and he had most certainly succeeded.  She felt almost sorry that it ended when he helped her up to stand before him.

 

“What do you feel now?” he asked.

 

Sarah paused, rubbing her bottom and trying to figure out just what it was she was feeling, aside from well-spanked. “Sorry, Sir,” she eventually responded.

 

“Sorry for what?” he asked her. Sarah, puzzled by the question, was silent again.

 

“Is this more attitude I’m seeing?” he asked.

 

“No, Sir,” she responded, letting her genuine shock and fear show through.

 

“I will have your respect, and I will not have that sort of attitude around here,” he scoded as he all but threw her back down over the table, yanking her panties down before picking up the strap.

 

Sarah gasped at the first stroke, harsher still than even before, but didn’t fight it.  Whether her “attitude” warranted this or not, it was something she needed.  Sarah felt herself melt into the pain, the experience becoming all-encompassing as she curled up her legs involuntarily and flailed her arms. A solid thunk and splash made her raise her head, dimly taking in the spilled coffee that was now trickling onto the tiled floor. “It’s alright,” he assured her, breaking character just long enough to remove the mug to the counter and out of harm’s way before resuming the strapping.

 

Even through the haze of her submission, she knew it was becoming too much.  She had to say something, but what to say? Yellow or banana, slow down or full stop? The next lash cast such thoughts from her mind as all thinking stopped to make way for a purging scream.

 

And then she was in his arms before she realised he had stopped. He caressed her tenderly as he held her upright, murmuring mostly unheard assurances that were nonetheless appreciated. When Sarah had settled back into herself enough to gain control of her sobbing, he held her back a bit to search her face.

 

“Scene over?” he asked.  Not yet able to talk, Sarah lowered her head again onto his shoulder as she continued to cry.  “Scene over.” He assured her and led her to the sofa where he held her close.

 

He hugged her in silence until she’d stopped trembling enough to manage something resembling conversation.

 

“Are you ok?” he asked.

 

Sarah nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

 

“That was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

 

Sarah snuggled in closer.  “Yes,” she started eventually, “but I had all but asked for it to be.”

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