From the Sarah Saga, with thanks to Topcat599
Frank and Sarah’s story began here
“That was an amazing scene.”
“What?” Sarah asked, genuinely confused. The night had barely begun and, here among newish friends, she’d yet to establish the sort of connection she needed before feeling comfortable submitting to a spanking or anything else.
“Last week, you and the gentleman in uniform.”
“Oh. . .” Sarah felt a giddy, floaty feeling rising and smiled as echoes of the experience washed over her. Even a week later, their power was undeniable. “Yes, with Frank. Thank you. It was. . . . wonderful.”
Sarah floated back downstairs, back to socialise. Brain followed right behind, smiling benignly. He must be floating as well, Sarah thought distantly, though he was much better at landing again than she was. It always seemed to take forever for her to return to her own mind after a good session, and this had been one of the best.
It helped that everyone here understood, would excuse her spacy-ness, would take it as a sign that she was having a good night, rather than as a personal sleight. This space seemed designed for floaty people, the various clusters of chairs and soft places to collapse that flowed seamlessly into one another, the happy people milling about, ready to soften the landing of those rejoining humanity. She could take her time, reintegrate slowly, then do it all over again.
As she pulled the heavy curtain aside and stepped into the social room, she found herself face to face with a most unexpected figure smiling broadly at her from a small conversational cluster. Sarah came crashing back quicker than she ever could have expected.
“Hi Frank,” Sarah greeted him, beaming, panicking, soaring, happy. Memories of the last time she had seen him came flooding back, that blissful night that had ended with her stumbling back into her hostel at nearly six in the morning, reeking of tiger balm and high as a kite on a rush of endorphin and emotion.
It had been a night to remember, and she did frequently and fondly, long after the bruises had finally faded.
And then there was nothing. Although he had been very active years and years ago, he had stepped back lately for reasons she had no desire to pry into. She hadn’t expected to see him again, and yet here he was.
“Hello again,” he relied warmly, extending a hand in greeting. Sarah took it and beamed up at him, unable to think of anything to say in reply; she was too busy trying to reconcile the man next to her with the near-mythical figure her mind had created in its ruminations of their first meeting.
She tried to join in the chat, but sentences were difficult at the best of times after scenes. With this additional complication, such intellectual endeavours were well beyond her grasp, and she satisfied herself with smiling and nodding as the others continued discussing whatever it was they’d been chatting about before her arrival.
The group had begun to disperse before Sarah had gathered her wits enough to attempt speech. “It’s good to see you again,” Sarah finally managed. “I never got a chance to properly thank you for last time; it was a very powerful experience,” Sarah confessed.
“Good,” Frank replied with an encouraging smile. “I enjoyed that night immensely myself.”
“Thanks,” Sarah replied, then added, “if you’re interested, I’d love to play again later?”
“Should be able to fit you in somewhere,” he replied gamely. “I’ll come find you later.”
“Sure,” Sarah agreed brightly and floated off in the direction of the bar. After her first spanking of the evening, she was in desperate need of something cold and drinkable. Sarah collected a bottle of water but refused the glass of ice- such things tended to be used in ways the barman never intended- and looked for a place to sit down. Seats were often at a premium, but Sarah was determined to make the most of things while she was still in any condition to enjoy the luxury. She searched for Brian, but he was nowhere to be found- presumably upstairs with his next eager victim. She spotted an empty chair next to Mark, but wasn’t quite back to a stable enough frame of mind for that conversation.
Gerard saved her from her conundrum with a wave from across the room. As Sarah walked over to join him, he slid over on the bench to make room for her. Sarah sat next to him with the slightest of winces, which he acknowledged with a knowing grin.
“I see Brian has finally finished with you. Anyone else on your dance card this evening?” her sponsor asked.
“A few,” Sarah responded, “Lisa was talking about trying that wire thing, but wasn’t sure she’d make it. Knowing Brian, we’ll have at least one more go later. Possibly Tom too, and then Frank just agreed to do a scene as well.”
“High-level player,” Gerard said simply, watching for her reaction without betraying any emotion of his own.
“I know,” replied Sarah with a wistful expression, “very well. The bruises lasted most of a month last time.”
“Ah, have fun then,” Gerard said with a gentle punch to her thigh. Sarah nestled up to him and slouched into a relaxed cuddle, quietly listening to the conversation happening around her.
“Are you ready?”
Sarah jumped at the sound of Frank’s voice behind her, turning to find him regarding her with a toppy look, that somewhat threatening but mostly intriguing expression that seemed to come naturally to dominants.
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied, already slipping under his spell. “Oh, I mean.- um. . . I really . .Can I have a few minutes? Too much water,” she offered apologetically, wincing at her struggle to form a sentence for reasons completely unrelated to her earlier spanking.
Frank merely raised an eyebrow, regarding her with a mixture of playfulness and sternness that did nothing to improve her ability to explain herself.
Thankfully, Meave saved her with an understanding smile and an ill-concealed chuckle. “He’ll wait for you, dear,”
Sarah nodded in thanks and dashed off to the toilets, which, to her dismay were occupied. She tried to calm herself down as she waited, but ultimately gave up on the exercise as futile. When the door finally opened, Sarah slipped in, refreshed herself as quickly as she could, and returned to Frank’s side.
“Ready now, young lady?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied, dipping her gaze involuntarily. It was starting already.
“After you,” Frank gestured toward the stairs up to the play area.
Things had gotten much busier upstairs since Sarah’s first scene. Each of the play spaces were filled with people expressing pain and pleasure at various volumes, and a small crowd had gathered around the edges of the room, waiting and watching. Sarah paused at the top of the stairs, looking for an unobtrusive place to stand until a play space was free.
Frank brushed past her, sweeping her along to one of the quieter corners, adjacent to the bench here Meave was laying into a girl Sarah recognised but couldn’t quite remember with a vicious looking strap. Sarah winced in sympathy as she watched the girl’s skin rose in ripples and welts with each stroke, but also in awe at the transformation in Meave. She’d spent several evenings chatting away with the woman, who had been nothing but pleasant and friendly. Sarah had seen her play before as well, but was still rather shocked whenever she glimpsed Meave’s sadistic side. She wasn’t one to pull her strokes, and took open, obvious pleasure in the reactions she produced. Judging by those reactions, however, her current victim was enjoying herself just as much.
As terrifying as it was, the connection between the two women was undeniable,as was their unintended hold on Sarah’s attention. Even as the girl cried out, she made no attempt to rise from the bench or to block the blows, answering each of Meave’s questions with contrite respectfulness, requesting further strokes each time she was prompted.
After an age, Meave set the strap down and went around the front of the bench to comfort the girl. It was difficult to tell in the reddened light, but her bottom looked like it had taken on a brilliant shade from the ordeal. The girl rose partially off the bench to accept a hug. Sarah smiled at the tender end to the scene, but Meave had other ideas.
“Frank, would you be able to assist me in dealing with this one?” Meave asked.
“Certainly,” Frank replied, as if he’d been asked for the simplest of favours. He approached the couple, and after a few quiet words with both of them, stepped back and unfastened his belt.
If Sarah had been intrigued before, she was now enraptured. There was something magical about that particular belt.
All the same, the chance to watch Frank in action was something of a mixed blessing. She’d not had that privilege the first time Sarah had submitted to him. Looking back, she was not at all certain if she would have gone through with it if she’d known just what she was getting herself into. Much easier to submit when she was so blissfully ignorant, when she didn’t have to watch it happening just a few feet away, just moments before putting her own bottom in his care.
“You will take ten,” Frank declared before he delivered the first blow, a sharp crack that drew the attention of the rest of the room with its power. The girl cried out, even louder.
“Count,” Frank ordered.
“One,” she replied a beat later between gasps.
“One, thank you. Sir,” Frank amended.
Her response was a beat in coming but come it did. “One, thank you Sir.” She spoke clearly despite her shaking form, determined to see this through.
If the first count was difficult, the rest were nothing short of tortured. Sarah was impressed at the girl’s ability to bear the beating she was taking, even given the benefit of Meave’s- the gentle Meave’s – constant presence and embrace.
The ninth count was long in coming, requiring prompting from both Frank and Meave. “You should give her another,” Meave suggested with a wicked smile as her sadistic side bubbled back to the surface, “a penalty for being late with the count.”
Frank paused before replying, running his fingers gently across the bottom before him, studying the girl carefully from behind. “Ten is enough.”
That one, short sentence did more to reassure Sarah than anything Frank could have said or done. He was intense, but he was safe. He would take his partners to the very edge of endurance, but he had mastered the special art of balancing on that edge without toppling into the space where true damage could be done.
“One more and I’m giving you back to Meave,” Frank reaffirmed, and the girl’s sobbing quieted long enough to nod her consent.
The final stroke drew a piercing wail before the girl collapsed into Meave’s arms. Frank set his belt aside before leaning in close to her once more, sharing a few brief moments of post-scene intimacy. Sarah turned her gaze away, feeling somehow more voyeuristic watching the whispered conversation and gentle hugs than she had watching the belting itself. As Sarah surveyed the rest of the room behind her, she found many of the others doing the same, and giggled softly at the silliness of the unspoken convention.
Sarah was beginning to be drawn into observing a complicated bit of ropework in the middle of the room when Frank’s voice at her ear made her jump.
Sarah didn’t, couldn’t answer, but followed him across the room and, with the gentle unspoken encouragement of his hand on her back, bent over a high padded table.
“So, what would you like?” he asked, quietly, as he hovered beside her.
“A spanking?” Sarah replied, feeling foolish. “Your belt was very nice,” she added, doing nothing to ease the rising sense of acute embarrassment, but at least it was something.
“I knew that much,” Frank replied with a smile and a glance down at the table. Sarah followed his gaze and blushed to see his belt there, not six inches from her face, folded and ready for use. “And what else?”
She let the pause linger. What else? There was the hairbrush he’d threatened to use last time, but the thought filled her with a certain dread. She wasn’t ready, not yet. His hand was enough then, and would be tonight as well. What else did he use? There was that strap, that delicious strap that she’d finally worked up the nerve to ask just before leaving the last time they’d met. It was lovely, but very much like the belt. Besides, she didn’t even know if he had brought it.
Then there was the cane. She remembered the cane well, how it had marked Louise, how it had made even Mary squeal. She’d watched in horrified fascination as the welts had risen and coloured, and how both of them managed to remain in place, albeit with several prolonged breaks in Louise’s case. She wasn’t ready for that, and yet. . . no, the word wouldn’t pass her lips.
“I don’t know,” she confessed. Not helpful, but at least it was honest.
“You don’t know,” the sternness of the voice cracked enough that she could hear his smile. He was doing this on purpose, Sarah thought, enjoying her predicament. But she was too, in her own way. “What about the cane?” he asked.
Sarah felt a trill terror whisk through her. She should say no, that she didn’t want the cane, that it was too much. And yet. . . .
“I struggle with the cane,” Sarah said softly, turning to face him, ashamed at the admission of weakness, of inexperience, even as she knew it was necessary.
“Six then,” he replied, taking her lack of outright refusal for the consent that it was. Sarah turned her face back down, grateful that the discussion was over, the decision was made, her fate sealed.
“We’ll try something different this time. If it is too much, cross your fingers,” he told her.
Sarah nodded and crossed her fingers to demonstrate. “So, yellow to slow down, fingers crossed for red?” she asked.
“No, ‘red’ is ‘red.’” he told her firmly, reassuringly, his hand a steady presence at her shoulder. “But if things get a bit much, cross your fingers and I’ll ease up.”
Sarah nodded, beginning to understand, to embrace the subtle signal, the one that would allow the two of them to enter into the scene, to scold, to banter, to plead, to signal an approaching limit in a way that would not disrupt their flow. In a way that would be all but invisible to those witnessing the performance, for that is what this was to be.
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah assented.
“Good girl,” Frank replied softly. With a final tap on her shoulder, he stood back before saying more loudly, more firmly, “You deserve a hard spanking, don’t you young lady?”
“I deserve a hard spanking, Sir,” Sarah replied, her face blushing as she matched his volume, responding to his question in a voice projected just as he had his.
Frank lifted her barely-there skirt, a strangely embarrassing action, considering how little the garment concealed. “You deserve to be spanked on the bare, don’t you?” he asked. Sarah trembled- from his voice, the implication of discipline, and from the steady gentle touch of his fingertips on the waistband of her panties.
“I deserve to be spanked on the bare, Sir,” Sarah replied with a deepening blush as Frank drew down the garment, wondering what other ritualistic phrases he would impose on her. Silly as they sounded, she couldn’t deny their power. Impersonal and imprecise, the words nonetheless cemented her submission. She was here to be spanked, to be punished.
Frank didn’t make her wait any longer. She felt his left hand rest gently on her back, a slight comfort, but not sufficiently distracting to detract from the sting as he began her spanking.
Sarah had mixed feelings about hand-spanking. Her younger, unspanked self had thought it would be lovely, intimate, just nice. The reality had been somewhat different. The intimacy was there, but, as the hand tended to be the first thing to visit her bottom in any given session, the sensation was more shocking than pleasant. Not as painful, but also somehow not as easy to take as the implements often used later on her pre-warmed skin, on her well-submitted mind.
Sarah wanted to enjoy this part of her spanking, but struggled even to stay still under Frank’s firm hand. She struggled to push aside the panic that so often rose at this point of a spanking. If the hand hurt this much, how could she possibly withstand the belt? What had she been thinking when she had consented to the caning? It was tempting, so very tempting, to cross her fingers, to lessen the impact of the scene to something she could more easily endure.
Sarah pushed the thought aside with inner violence, ashamed of her desire to cheat herself out of this experience. The last spanking from Frank had been intense, more intense than this hand spanking, and she had survived. She had loved it, had treasured the marks and the memory. She would do nothing to interfere with this session, she deserved to have that sort of experience again.
Still, it was difficult to remain in place. Frank noticed her struggle and move closer to her, pinning her body to the table more firmly, trapping her between his left hand and his hip to prevent any sideways squirming. Sarah tried to take comfort from his presence, the warmth of him at her side even as he stoked the heat in her bottom with his other hand.
Frank paused, and, as Sarah caught her breath, she realised that her hands had balled into fists, clutching at the soft covering on the table. Sarah forced her fingers to unclench, purposely laying her hands flat against the table, fingers straight.
“How was that?” he asked softly, just to her.
“It stings, Sir,” Sarah replied, stating the obvious and wishing she had something more witty or intelligent to say.
“It’s supposed to sting,” Frank replied, and she could hear his wry grin. “Are you ready to continue?”
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied
“Good girl,” Frank murmured softly. Sarah smiled blissfully, pleased and reassured, but gave a sudden quake as she heard the clink of the belt buckle. She braced herself for the first stroke, trying to remember the last time, how the abrupt shock had faded quickly into a more bearable, yet still burning sensation. How the initial shock had been worth it. How pleased she felt to be able to take the punishment he gave.
It didn’t help.
The belt hurt, hurt much much more than she had remembered. She gave a strangled grunt in reply to the first stroke, but retained enough awareness to keep her fingers flat and straight on the table.
“Good girl,” Frank repeated more loudly before striking again. He gave her several rapid blows that caught Sarah off guard. She had never seen him give anything other than a measured, slowly counted strapping. She struggled to process the sensation and found it entirely too much. She felt herself making some sort of undoubtedly loud noise in her effort to stay in place for him, to release some of the torment in something other than movement.
“You have this coming, don’t you Sarah?” he asked after a pause. It wasn’t a question, but a proclamation, a declaration of intent to Sarah and to the rest of the room, which had now gone strangely quiet. Sarah had often felt it somewhat difficult to slip into the headspace necessary for submission in this environment, this place where so many others were crying out from intense sensation and emotion. She’d never thought that the lack of the distinctive background noise could be even more unsettling, indicating as it did that she was now the exclusive centre of attention.
“I have this coming, Sir,” she replied, not wanting to know how many people she was admitting this to. She wanted to say something else, to do more to show her willingness, her submission, than simply parroting phrases back to her spanker. She tried to think, but the effort was brought to an abrupt halt by yet another stroke of the belt.
He continued at a slower pace, but on top of the welts from the earlier assault, even this was agonising. Distantly, Sarah realised that he hadn’t asked her to count and tried to be grateful for the small blessing. Each stroke of the belt made that more difficult.
It seemed like an age before the belting stopped, and the implement was replaced alongside Sarah’s body along the table. Sarah glanced at the strip of leather, seemingly so simple, so innocuous as it laid beside her. Difficult to believe that such a small thing could cause such pain.
She was distracted from her musings by a sudden swishing from across the room. Preoccupied with the afterglow of the belting, she hadn’t noticed that Frank had left her side, left to retrieve the cane that was now making her tremble even from more than a dozen feet away.
Frank took his time in returning, pausing every few steps to give the cane another swish. Curse him, Sarah thought, he knew exactly what he was doing to her, exactly the sort of anxiety the sound of the cane was dredging up from the depth of her stomach, exactly the sort of anticipation that was now festering within her.
A series of light taps of the rod on her bottom brought her back to her body again, and Sarah forced herself to breathe, resisted the urge to cling onto the edges of the table for support, instead laying her hands flat, signalling a readiness she didn’t quite feel.
“You are getting six. You will count these,” he told her and their audience.
“Yes, Sir,” Sarah replied.
“How will you count?”
“One, thank you Sir; two, thank you, Sir,” Sarah recited, recalling his preferred method of address.
“Good girl,” he replied, and delivered the first stroke. The sudden slice made Sarah gasp.
Sarah had been very tempted to continue her prior count, muttering a “Three, thank you, Sir”, insisting that it was not her fault if he hadn’t given her cane strokes as she’d uttered the first two counts. After all, spankers had a tendency to think that strokes didn’t count if the spankee forgot to supply their part of the counting deal; it seemed only fair that the same deal should work in reverse.
Her nerve failed her, however, as the pain from the first stroke began to truly blossom. “One, thank you, Sir, Sarah counted. It would be enough to simply take the caning as prescribed- this time. Perhaps next time she could be a bit more bold. She hissed from the second cut and took a moment to remind herself that her bottom hadn’t actually been split in two, even if that was how it felt. SHe gave another small gasp before counting “Two, thank you, Sir,” she knew she had made the correct decision; six would be more than enough.
This was entirely different from the belt. The leather had burned and bruised, but the sensation had a certain undertone of desirability, a subtle quality that was pleasing even as it had made her cry in pain.
The cane was just dreadful. Still, just as Frank had mastered the art of delivering belt strokes that, while hard, felt solid, accurate, and safe, the cane strokes felt similarly masterful. They were nearly unbearable, but without even a hint of danger, hitting her with a terrible bite but one that felt sustainable and correct as it bit deeply into the muscle.
“Three, thank you, Sir,” Sarah counted again.
“Good girl, half way there.”
Simple words should not be as comforting as those were. Despite the tears falling unbidden from her eyes, Sarah couldn’t help but be proud of herself for making it this far, for taking what he deemed she deserved, for turning herself over to him, trusting him to guide her through this experience. She could take three more. She patted the table softly, fingers straight and flat.
The fourth stroke made her ball her fists again as she hissed in anguish before counting, “Four, thank you Sir.”
“Two more,” Frank encouraged. “Stay still,” the sternness in his voice doing more to hold her in place than any physical force possibly could.
“Five, thank you Sir,” she counted, choking back a sob as she absorbed the new line of pain, squeezing her eyes shut as the cane tapped her again, lining up the final stroke. It bit low on her bottom, where the pain reached new levels of intensity.
“Six, thank you, Sir,” Sarah counted, both relieved the experience was over and yet desiring more.
Frank gently helped her up, reaffirming that the experience was over. Sarah brushed the tears from her eyes quickly, trying to look as presentable as one could in the circumstances.
She took his hand, the tradition seeming appropriate. “Thank you, Sir,” she said, the words taking on a new, deeper meaning face to face than they’d had recited after each stroke.
“Well done,” Frank told her with a warm smile. Sarah smiled back shyly before moving closer for a hug. Sometimes a handshake isn’t quite enough.
“That was wonderful. Thank you very much,” she told him quietly.
“Anytime,” Frank replied. “Shall we go back downstairs?” Sarah agreed readily, and followed him happily, if somewhat unsteadily, back to the larger group near the bar. Not quite ready to be bubbly again, she collected another bottle of water and followed Frank out to the smoking area, grateful for the dark and quiet place to reassemble herself.
The rest of the night, what little was left, passed in floaty bliss. Sarah indulged in a brief shoulder-flogging from Tom, and a mercifully gentle paddling from Gerard (who she could never refuse outright, and who was more than willing to assess and accommodate the state of her bottom).
All too soon, it was time to head back to the city. Sarah made her rounds of goodbyes, catching each of her partners that evening for a final hug and a promise of a message the following day. Frank proved elusive however, until she poked her head out into the smoking area. With only a few minutes left, she shyly touched his arm, excusing her intrusion into the conversation. “I’m on my way out, just wanted to say thank you once again, and goodbye.”
“Glad you stopped by, it was a lovely night,” Frank replied, folding her into a half-hug.
Sarah considered just leaving, accepting that as the final farewell, waiting for the next time she might see him, but stopped herself. It had been strange enough the first time, to have such an intense experience and then no contact. She’d come to rely on the quick little notes from her partners to get her through the droppy days after events. More than that, it felt odd to share such an intimate experience with a man she barely knew. She had the utmost respect for Frank as a spanker, and yet knew next to nothing about him outside of that context. She didn’t want to intrude, didn’t want to ask too much, but the chance at a more well-rounded friendship was worth a try, worth the risk of rejection. Besides, she couldn’t fumble over herself any more than she already had.
“Can we stay in touch?” Sarah asked timidly
“Of course,” he replied, and Sarah felt a relief mixed with embarrassment in her silliness and hesitancy to ask. She started to fish clumsily in her bag for a pen but Frank stopped her. “Myra has my contact information- she’ll help you out there. Don’t miss your bus.”
With a final grin and a quick wave, Sarah turned to leave, already looking forward to the next time, even as she walked with an oddly mincing gait.