Sarah and Steven’s story began here
The hand towel lay folded over the bar. Sarah ran the fabric through her damp fingers, relishing in the plushness of the doubled thickness as she dried her hands. For an object she touched daily, it felt almost foreign like this. She never left it folded; it wouldn’t dry properly that way. She wondered if Steven had thought of that, if there was some other overriding reason he chose to fold the towel. More likely it was just habit. Normal people didn’t analyse things like this so deeply, she reminded herself. Sarah smiled and shook her head as she turned out the light, leaving the towel as she found it. It was a subtle if potent reminder that he had been there.
His visit had left very few visible signs. The towel, of course. The lack of clutter (though that would quickly be remedied). The pair of wine glasses by the sink, remnants of a hastily-finished drink crusted into the dimple at the top of the stem.
The bits of wax she kept finding.
Sarah prised another solidified droplet from the kitchen floor. How had it managed to get there, so far from the bedroom? A quick survey of the floor revealed several more droplets and flakes that had escaped not only the bedroom, but the hoover as well. Sarah shrugged as she rounded up the bits she’d found. This was one reminder that would stick around a bit longer, promoting her to recall the experience long after the sting and marking had faded.
Sarah missed the marks; they used to stay for weeks, flaring in a tinge of residual soreness whenever she sat. Reaching back and squeezing her bottom, she could almost summon up a bit of pain, a reminder of the afternoon’s experience, but the sensation had dulled to nearly nothing, refusing to be reawakened by all but her most persistent prodding. She hadn’t even bothered trying to twist to catch a glimpse of her bottom in the mirror. It would perhaps be a light pink, no more. A few small bruises not yet faded, but those were more likely from the previous weekend than her afternoon session the previous day with Stephen.
It hadn’t been a heavy session, which in itself was a blessing on one level- she was too busy to take much time to recover. Each of Steven’s previous visits had left her breathless and exhausted- in a good way, but still, it would take a while to recover her senses. Today a thirty-minute nap had been sufficient.
Though she craved the intensity of a longer, harder spanking, the contrast in this session had been welcome. The physicality of it had been light, but she’d been left with plenty to ponder. And plenty to clean, she realised as she found yet more wax-droppings which had worked their way into a corner of the sitting room. The wax-play had been worth the mess, though. She’d been looking forward to it for so long, and Steven did not disappoint. The burn had been a unique sensation, burning but not off-putting, not to mention the ticklish removal of the solidified remnants from her back. She’d giggled uncontrollably- a new experience during a spanking- though it had been highly enjoyable.
Then there had been the spanking bit- was it really a spanking? Parts certainly were, when he had sat next to her, tucking her under his arm as he warmed her bottom with his hand. Warmed her bottom a bit too much, he had told her- the wax from the next round had refused to solidify on her reddened skin, a strange sensation if there ever was one, and a situation that resulted in much laughter from both sides.
Then there was the. . .what was that thing he had used on her feet? Too small to be a paddle, to cute for the word “crop” (a class of implements that Sarah still found far too scary to contemplate for too long). The word “lollipop” seemed to best describe the shape of the thing, but that sounded like a ridiculous thing to be spanked with.
Then again, it was hardly a serious spanking. Despite the slight residual soreness, part of her desired more, craved the harsher discipline that reached down to the soul, forcing its way into her senses and bringing her back to a purer state.
All the same, yesterday had been fun.
Besides, there was always next time. That thought in itself was comforting. She and Steven had reached a point where each meeting didn’t need to be a grand occasion as had been the case initially. A couple of hours, a bit of a laugh, a touch of comfortable intimacy- a quick reminder of what they were tucked into a busy schedule.
There would be time later for the deeper things. For now, they had both enjoyed a bit of play. And that alone was worth it.
To be continued
Acknowledging Imperfection 