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Avalondreams -> The Secrets that we Keep (5/17/2015 1:43:16 PM)
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It had been six months since she left Crown Heights, an estate of pit-bulls, rain-soaked mattresses’ and people with more tattoos than teeth. Six months since fate leaned forward, tapped her on the shoulder and offered her a new home.
But fate doesn’t like happy endings…
“I care about you Kate; not like a father or a boyfriend, but as someone who’s provided not just a roof over your head, but a place to call home.”
The matter-of-fact way he delivered his sermon made her stomach sink. He’d admonished her before about chores, but not like this; this time he seemed ready to evict. She sat across the coffee table, arms folded with eyes avoiding, but still feeling, his gaze. In an hour her new boyfriend would arrive and she was dressed for a night out; now the evening would be spent packing. There would be no socialising tonight, only calls to her parents and the indignity of begging to return home.
With cool detachment and in chilling detail, he laid out her behaviour; how her selfishness caused him extra work, the embarrassment of the time his girlfriend came to stay, the abuse of the trust and freedom she enjoyed. Everything was laid bare, but worse was his manner. She would have chosen anger over this coldness, she was used to parental fury, but this made her feel unwanted and alone. She would have hugged him, just for the warmth of his forgiveness; but it seemed too late for that now.
“I don’t want any more conflict,” he continued, “I don’t want friction or coming home to cold silence.”
She cringed at the finality of it; here it comes.
“The truth is, I believe you need discipline, either here or back at your parents.”
The suggestion she might stay came as a surprise, but it arrived with a condition: discipline, whatever that meant. She buried her face in her hands and listened intently.
First was pressure, now came the promise of reprieve; in his eyes discipline would ‘wipe the slate clean, even if the dishes weren’t.’ His quip about the washing up stung her, but it was his first hint of humour, and she accepted it gladly; for this was more like the man she knew.
“On several occasions Kate, you’ve put me in an embarrassing position. I think it’s time you were too. To be clear: if you choose to stay, then I’m going to spank you.”
The word came as a thunderbolt. ‘Spank’ she repeated to herself. It was so descriptive - so specific - that it left no room for doubt; it meant something would be applied across her bottom, that her behaviour had warranted it, and if she chose, he would be the one to apply it.
She flushed at the thought of fetching her hairbrush then bending over and inviting him to use it. No, she dismissed that as childish, but trembled all the same.
His voice broke in, “On the other hand, if you prefer discipline from your parents, I’d be disappointed, but would understand. I don’t insist you do anything - except make a decision.”
So there it was: the humiliation of returning to her parents versus the embarrassment of being spanked. She couldn’t afford anywhere else, and couldn’t tolerate returning under their thumb. In Crown Heights, someone ‘too immature for the big wide world,’ would get short shrift indeed; but this? Worse, he was asking her to agree to it, there would be no room to resist or object, only co-operation. The only comfort was no one would know; after all, he could hardly tell his girlfriend.
In the gaunt silence, she felt her bottom tingling as much as her stomach. “I’ll stay,” she whispered, though she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. The coffee table, which had stood like a barrier between them, became much smaller and his presence very much closer.
He got to his feet. “Let’s get you upstairs.”
She gasped at the realisation of what she had just agreed to; it was happening and it was happening to her. He clasped her wrist and drew her up. An arm was wrapped around her knees and she felt herself being lifted from the ground. As he pulled her thighs to his chest she fell across his shoulder, her hands pressed against his laundered shirt.
“Lower your hands Kate.” She dropped her arms and felt herself sliding down his back, the hem of her skirt rising to reveal her panties. In that dizzying moment, she felt cool air running up her thighs and caressing her bottom.
Seconds later they were in the hallway and he was standing before the mirror. How embarrassing, having her bottom presented in this most unladylike manner, and what if someone called and he answered the door holding her like this? She buried her face in his back, the idea was mortifying; she wanted to be taken upstairs quickly.
It was a relief when he turned and ascended the stairs. She felt light headed being carried this way, but his firm, controlled manner also made her feel safe and protected. She felt like a naughty girl, and the thought that in his eyes she WAS a naughty girl gave her an unexpected thrill.
They reached the landing and she heard the handle of her bedroom door turn. That she could still call it her bedroom reminded her why this was happening. He pushed the door open and stood at the threshold.
Of course she couldn’t see anything; but the stubble of his face brushing against her leg told her he was surveying the room - thank goodness she had tidied it. Was he looking for something for her to bend over? She pictured each piece of furniture: dressing table, chair, bed, all were possibilities, or perhaps he would make her stand in the middle of the room and touch her toes? She hoped not, that would be too impersonal; she’d prefer the reassurance of holding onto him. She blushed; for it meant she wanted him to put her over his knee.
And what would he use on her? Her hairbrush was in the bathroom, and she had no slippers, but there were belts hanging in the cupboard. The thought of submitting to her own belt was humbling enough, but what if he made her select one? Oh please, please, let it be your hand.
An hour ago such unfamiliar thoughts would have been shocking, yet as she hung carelessly over his shoulder they became exotic and inviting. Losing control made her explore them; and with each taste, her appetite grew.
She wasn’t certain of its significance, but heard the chair being dragged across the carpet. Then he lowered her to her feet. Having been upside-down, it took some moments to recover, and as she did, he sat down before her.
Her eyes focused on his lap, and made an unconscious step towards it.
“Before we begin,” his voice drew her to attention, “you should know this is not an exercise in smacking your bottom, that’s a ‘ha-ha he-he’ thing a boyfriend might do, and that’s disrespectful to us both. This is about discipline; a chance for you to take responsibility and for me to show I am serious. So I want us to treat this as a spanking.”
It was that word again – spanking - so very childish and so very specific.
“And from now on, whatever time you save by avoiding chores you will spend over my knee.”
So it was settled, she was going over his knee. She had seen such things in old movies and there was always a struggle, but she had agreed to this and had to acquiesce. She nodded her assent.
Again he took her wrist and she felt herself falling over his lap. As he pivoted her over his thighs, her palms reached out; when they landed, she found herself staring down at her bedroom carpet. This is really happening, she thought, as he lifted her hips further over until she was stretched across his knee.
“You know what’s going to happen?” he asked.
In the surprise of finding herself in this position, she struggled to answer, “You’re going to hit me.”
“No, Kate, I’m not. Let’s try again.”
He wanted her to use THAT word.
“You’re going to spank me.” There. She had said it, acknowledged from her own lips. She had crossed a hurdle, and with it, she felt the hem of her skirt being lifted from her legs.
Despite every instinct, she kept her hands on the floor. Now he raised it further, exposing her panties. It was one thing to show them unintentionally while over his shoulder, but now they were being deliberately revealed and she was consenting! She lay motionless, staring hard at her knuckles while he took time folding the fabric over her back. Apart from pulling her over his knee, he hadn’t actually touched her - it was as though he was avoiding that – in some strange way, here was a man showing her respect. It aroused her curiosity; as he smoothed her skirt across her back she clutched the carpet, wondering what his next step would be.
Then came his touch; fingers reaching under her panties, drawing and stretching them this way and that, moulding and shaping her bottom until he gave her a gentle pat of satisfaction. She was struck that this was not rough, mindless groping, there was gentleness and purpose in his touch, as different as casual sex was to making love.
His forearm slipped across the small of her back and his hand gripped her waist, pressing her onto the warmth of his thighs and locking her in place. His other hand glided along her leg and paused on the back of her thigh. It was the one that would soon be spanking her. She never imagined it for such a purpose, but as she felt the palm resting on her skin, she realised she would have chosen no other – that too, sent a shiver of anticipation.
She stole a glace about the room; from this unfamiliar position there was little to see, but what there was seemed so much taller. That it would witness her spanking made her feel small, and it would never feel quite the same again. Then she studied the carpet before her, and wondered how many other girls were right now in this identical position, in their rooms, waiting to be spanked. At that moment they were together as sisters, sharing the same fate. Perhaps they were reflecting on their faults; she decided to do the same.
Using the carpet as a blank page, she listed her chores, there weren’t many, and of those only two were not done. His rule was whatever time saved would be spent over his knee - that seemed fair - and calculated she deserved thirty minutes.
He had not spoken since her last utterance, maybe he was allowing time for reflection, but with her self-appraisal complete, she risked a slight wriggle.
It brought immediate reassurance, “Kate, you are in the privacy of your own room and over the knee of someone who genuinely cares about you. There’s no one to see or hear this and no one will know.”
She understood, but was too overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness to answer. By taking his time, she had felt valued and cared for. Whether he knew it or not, this was her first spanking, and his consideration would be reciprocated with obedience. As she waited to hear more, the mounds of her bottom, shaped and smoothed by her panties, relaxed to the slow rise and fall of each patient breath.
“I also want you to be very clear about who you are going to be spanked by, so look up over your shoulder.”
She hadn’t dared face him since this whole thing started, but she turned her head and caught him in the corner of her eye. She found a kindly face staring down, handsome in its firmness and determination.
“My arm will keep you in place, you can squirm and wriggle as much as you like - it won’t change anything.”
A whispered “Yes,” was all she could muster.
“And there’s no need for stoicism either, feel free to cry out, it shows your correction is working.”
She shivered at the words “your correction” so unfamiliar, so personal – ‘my correction’ she repeated to herself. She looked at the carpet with a sense of quiet pride, in a few moments she would be making amends and taking responsibility, and it was her choice; so this really was ‘my correction,’ she almost raised her bottom in satisfaction.
“Now, onto your elbows, Kate.”
Here was a new instruction, how many more would there be? She lifted first one hand then the other; as she lowered herself, the carpet rose up to greet her. With her nose inches from the floor, her bottom became the centre of all attention. Oh, my god! Each instruction had seemed reasonable but now she was struck by the enormity of it all; of where she was, the position she was in and what was about to happen. These thoughts passed like an express train, but there was no stopping now; even if he chose to bare her bottom, she couldn’t object. Her thighs instinctively clamped at the idea; not at the prospect of being bared, but to hide the moist warmth that, if discovered, would turn embarrassment into humiliation.
It was then she noticed something against her waist; a hint of firmness. Hoping he wouldn’t notice, she wriggled closer and felt it grow. She gasped at its discovery, inched her elbows towards him then lifted and eased herself upon it. Now she understood his instructions, when her spanking began, she would be to free wriggle and squirm against it while her moans would be taken as proof of her correction. She relaxed in delicious surrender, if he chose to peel her panties down now, she would willingly lift her hips to assist, then snuggle back down onto his manhood, planting herself on his discovered secret. Forget everything else, at that moment, all she wanted was to be kept there forever – never to be released.
But the outside world has a habit of intruding; the doorbell rang and the spell was broken. Her heart sank, surely she would not find herself in this position again. Out of loyalty, she pretended to ignore it, if he wanted to launch a flurry of smacks then push her onto the floor, she would’ve understood and accepted it. Yet this marvellous man refused to cheapen the experience; instead, he took her by the shoulders, and lifted her gently onto her knees.
“It’s your boyfriend. Go now and have a great time, and when you get home, if you want, we can start over.”
When he said ‘home’ her heart soared. There was no need for pretence; she reached up and threw her arms around his neck: “I so want you to spank me.”
She floated down the staircase; pausing before the hallway mirror to smooth her skirt; in a few hours it would be raised again with her bottom presented to it, and he could take all the time in the world.
It was soft drinks only that night, the delicious knowledge of a knee waiting for her to go over was intoxicating enough. She had discovered a special place, and tonight she would claim it as her very own. Fate may not like happy endings, but it loved new beginnings.
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