Subject: Wanting (F/F)
From: "Jessie Walker" <email@example.com>
Date: 3 Jul 1998 08:57:55 -0700
The usual disclaimers apply. Feedback and comments always greatly appreciated..--Jessie
"Corner. Now. " her command startles me. Not so much what she said, but how she says it. Her voice is stricter than I have ever heard her use on me. I look up and into my lover's eyes to see if this is a joke.
But her face reveals nothing. Her deep blue eyes blaze with.... anger? Passion? I can not tell. I start to speak, but harsh words stop me. "I said Corner Now." Her voice is calm.... too calm.
I walk slowly over to the corner looking back over my shoulder hoping to see an encouraging smile, or a look of love cross that beautiful face of hers. Nothing.
I stand looking at the soft violet wallpaper. A million things cross my mind. What did I do? Why is she mad? Why is she not smiling at me to reassure me that this is a game? I think over the day, it had been a very nice day. Nothing exciting, but a nice day. I hear the clock ticking away the time. I am growing restless. Finally, not being able to stand it anymore, I turn around and look at her. She has not moved. She's still sitting on our bed staring intently at me. Those blue eyes meet mine for a brief moment and she says in that chilling, cold voice that I hate, "Did I tell you to turn around?"
"No, but....," I stammer.
"Just answer the question. Did I tell you to turn around?"
Not knowing what she wants from me I answer meekly, "No."
I am scared. I walk over to her avoiding her steadfast gaze The eyes that are focused on me are not the eyes of the woman who loves me. I don't know anything anymore. My head is bowed as I stare at the carpet.
"Hold out your hand," she barks at me, pulling the strap from the desk.
No, not this, I think. She knows I hate being struck on the back of my hands. "Please, Chris, not that," my voice is trembling.
"Give me your hand now," she says calmly. I swallow the lump in my throat and give her my hand. She grasps it firmly. The leather lands firmly on the back of my hand. I want to scream, but I won't give her the satisfaction. She brings the strap down again on the same spot. I bite my lip holding everything in. I feel her eyes on me. I won't give her the satisfaction of seeing my tears or of hearing my voice. I lift my head, eyes blazing deep into hers, showing her my defiance.
"Very well," she says coldly, "go back to the corner. I can see this is going to take a little more."
I am angry. But mostly I am confused. I walk back to my corner. My armor is cracking. I feel fresh tears spring to my eyes. Quickly, I shake my head ridding myself of them. She will not get to me. I will be strong. I hold my head up a little straighter. I can hear her moving things around. I want to glance, but again, I don't want to give her the impression that I give a damn.
"Come here," she barks. I slowly turn around. On the bed there are several implements, a wooden spoon, a hairbrush, a belt, and the hand strap A chill runs through me. I stay in my corner, trying to comprehend this all. My mind is cloudy.
"You have exactly 2 seconds to get yourself in position over the bed," she says in that calm, collected voice. I don't hesitate. I walk over and bend over the bed, my arms reaching for the other side. Inside, I am seething. She knows I hate this position. I always want the intamacy of being over her lap, the feeling of her support underneath me.
I feel her lift my nightshirt up and yank my panties down. There will be no warm-up tonight. I try to steel myself against any emotions that are coming up for me. I concentrate on the wall across the room.
The first sting takes my breath away. Her usual gentleness is gone, replaced by something almost brutal. The wooden spoon rains down hard over and over. Right from the start I am trying to keep from screaming and kicking. I bite the comforter to keep me from crying out. If she notices that she is not getting a reaction, she doesn't acknowledge it. She just keeps bringing the wooden spoon down hard. The crack it makes as it meets my bottom is startling.
I feel her stop long enough to pick up what I assume to be the hairbrush. My bottom is, I am sure, already bright red. It is certainly on fire. The hairbrush lands harder over and over in the same place. My hands betray my resolve to not let her see she is getting to me. They clutch the blanket and twist it underneath their grip. She must of seen this, because the hairbrush comes down harder each time. She must be using all of her strength. I have never felt such power behind her swings, nor has she ever been so cold and uncaring. Spanking is usually something that brings us closer, and all this is doing is making me hate her.
When I feel the belt come stinging down, I don't care anymore. I don't know this game she is playing. I just hurt. My whole body is on fire from her wrath. I am half gone. My eyes are dry. I can barely feel the belt as it lands again and again on my bare flesh.
I hear her voice as if from a long ways off. "Stand up now." I feel myself lift off the bed, although, I am not quite sure how my legs manage to keep me up.
"Hold out your hands." she says again. Inwardly, I cringe, but I manage to do it. Again, that strap hits the back of my hands one, two, three times. My eyes are shut. I no longer care if I see her face. I am bracing myself for another stroke, when I feel softness instead of pain. I open my eyes. Her lips are kissing the back of my hands. I hesitantly look into her face, afraid of what I might see, but there is only love there.
The tears that I have been holding back come then. They overflow spilling on to the carpet. I hear her say once more, "Come here."
This time her arms are wide open.