Perversion Process (4 page)

I was shaking still, and I loved her, totally. She spoke for the first time, in the accented English of an eastern European. She said:

„That is the only time you will ever spank me. If you ever want to see me again you must come to me as my slave. You are my bitch now. What are you?‟

„A bitch,‟ I whispered. „Your bitch.‟

And so I am. And so I trail to the gallery day after day, hoping beyond hope that she will be there to take me, to let me surrender everything that I am and be hers completely. To let me feel again the exquisite thrill of hurt and humiliation and to worship her bottom in return.

Nothing now matters in this world but her.

22

Paying For It

He makes a living from spanking girls. Can you believe that? I told him it was money for old rope, but he said,

„Nah, I do spanking, not bondage.‟ Then told me to get out the strap for making such a disrespectful suggestion.

„What you don‟t understand, Kat,‟ he said, plying the leather and ignoring my gasps while I gripped the iron bedstead for dear life, „is that spanking is not easy. It isn‟t just a case of throwing the lady over the lap and whaling away. There is finesse involved. Psychology.‟

„Ouch!‟

„Sensibility.‟

„Ouch!‟

„Sensitivity.‟

„Ouch!‟

„Good judgement.‟

„Ouch!‟

„Aesthetic refinement.‟

„OUCH!‟

„And maybe a soupçon of sadistic intent.‟

The final stroke caught me at the top of my thighs and my resolve, along with my knees, buckled beneath it.

„OK, I‟m sorry,‟ I panted, doubled over on the carpet.

„It‟s not easy. But please don‟t tell me it hurts you more than it hurts me.‟

23

He chuckled softly behind me. „No, I wouldn‟t go that far. Back up, Kat. Bending over the bed now, please.‟

I pouted and made an authentic-sounding sob.

„It doesn‟t hurt me,‟ he said, once my upper body was pressed to the quilted eiderdown while my bottom, tight with the heat of the strapping, faced him at a jaunty angle.

„But I do maintain the requisite muscular strength. In my right arm in particular.‟

I expected a smack just then, but I got something else: cold lubricant in that intimate pucker, and then he was easing one of his bigger-sized plugs into me, and I knew he was going to fuck me next, and I sighed, eyelids lowering in pleasurable anticipation.

But instead – and this was what convinced me that no ordinarily-wired man could do his job – he asked me if I‟d ever been paddled with a plug in before.

Oh, the despair; the sweet, dizzying, dismaying, rapturous cruelty of it all.

The fucking came later, but I must make it clear that he rarely fucks the girls he spanks. Only, he tells me, the very naughtiest ones. The ones that really need it. Such as me.

„Do you ever get … you know … emotionally involved with your … clients?‟ I asked him afterwards, staring limply at his digital alarm clock, knowing he would probably have another girl to punish in about an hour.

„Of course,‟ he said seriously, then he reached over to ruffle my hair. „With all of them. In a way.‟

„Right.‟

I showered and dressed and caught the bus home, grateful that there was standing room only, still feeling some of the residual heat my tights held into my thighs and bottom. I wished that the heat could last for ever.

24

We have been meeting regularly for six months now. I had split up with a boyfriend in a nasty way – all my fault

– and had no heart for the dating game. I felt guilty and unworthy of all the nice men out there, who surely deserved a correspondingly nice girl. I was not nice. I had dark shadows inside me that kept escaping into my daily interactions. It was not fair to inflict that on anyone.

But I felt so guilty. I could not stop thinking about the way I treated my ex, and I could not stop fantasising about spanking, and somewhere in the middle, the two obsessions collided and I found myself staring at a website advertising the services of „Professor Strict‟:
I know your secret need for punishment, and I will
cater to it, with all the necessary rigour.

He was probably a conman. Possibly even a rapist. Or a murderer. I read on.

Send me the details of your wrongdoings and I will
formulate a suitable penalty. If you have a bad habit or
recurrent fault you would like to work on, then we can
establish a disciplinary programme, involving regular
progress reports and motivational chastisements.

I felt prickly and tight-chested, my knickers incriminatingly damp. Even if he
was
a conman … just an email wouldn‟t hurt, would it?

Several emails later, I rolled up at his door, dressed as instructed in a mini-kilt, white shirt, thigh-high socks and Mary Janes. I wondered if he would answer the door in a cloak and mortarboard. I rather hoped not.

And indeed he managed to swerve that particular cliché, even though he‟d made me embrace it with my attire. The man who answered the door was younger than I expected – maybe about thirty – and I thought immediately that he was too handsome to be using all that fusty old schoolmasterish language. Even if I did find it 25

hot. He wore a suit, which was … reassuring in a way, but it was a sharply cut, trendy kind of suit and he had an open collar rather than a tie. And his smile was beatifically beautiful. He looked like a man I might eye up in a bar. And I was slightly alarmed that he might lack the natural authority for what I had in mind, especially when he said, warmly and without a trace of sternness,

„Ah, you must be Kat. Come in.‟

His place was neat and redolent of modern bachelorhood. I had been expecting lots of chintz and brass, don‟t ask me why. He took my coat and offered me a seat on the leather sofa.

„Can I get you a drink? Sometimes a little Dutch courage goes a long way.‟ He half-winked at me.

I laughed nervously. „Oh … maybe a white wine. If you have one.‟

„Sure.‟

Would I be expected to make conversation? I did not think I would be capable, but he eased me in with his pleasant, open manner and we found ourselves discussing work and traffic and the weather as if we were already friends.

„So how did you find me?‟ he asked, halfway through the glass, the change of tone so abrupt that I sloshed a little of the wine over the rim.

„Well … Google …‟ I said. Suddenly my breathing was not coming so easily and I wanted to fold my arms over my chest and look away from his eyes, which had been kind and were now piercing.

„Google, eh? I wonder what search term might have led to me?‟

„Oh,‟ I laughed, very nervously. „Something silly …

and embarrassing.‟

„Tell me.‟

26

This wasn‟t light conversation any more. I felt as if I was in the witness box undergoing rigorous cross-examination. I bit my lip.

„When I ask you a question, young lady, I expect an answer.‟

Oh, that did it. That opened the thigh-top floodgates all right, that „young lady‟. Even though I could not have been more than a couple of years younger than him.

„Well, I think it was … oh God, I can‟t believe I‟m saying this …erm … “bad girls need a spanking”.‟ I lifted my eyes to the ceiling in mortification.

„No, look at me. Good girl. That must have been difficult for you to say, but you said it all the same. I appreciate your honesty and courage.‟

I basked in this stranger‟s approval, utterly transfixed by the effortless power he radiated. Had I really thought to question his authority? It seemed ridiculously blind of me now to have done so. I adjusted my frame of mental reference: quiet and low-key do not equate to easy-going and submissive.

„So you‟re a bad girl, are you?‟ he asked next, sipping at his drink.

„Sometimes.‟

„You think you need a spanking?‟

„That‟s, ah, why I‟m here.‟

He nodded, accepting my little hint of snark without rancour.

„Of course. It‟s why you‟re here. And this bad girl, Kat … is she bad a lot, or is this a one-off situation?

Because I can deal with either scenario. A conscience-cleanser, so you can move forward with your life … or a more long-term mentorship arrangement. Which do you think would be most appropriate for you?‟

Good question. „I … well. I seem to never learn from 27

my mistakes. I think I need something a little stronger than the possibility of everything going pear-shaped … to influence my decision-making. A deterrent. Stop me doing all the same things. Drinking too much and getting off with the wrong people. Slacking off at work and getting more and more disorganised. It‟s like, I can sort myself out for a few weeks, and then I start sliding again.‟

The idea of this man being a mentor … a disciplinarian mentor … oh God. I was so wet now that I feared for the leather of the sofa. Would he spank me even harder if I messed up his furniture?

„Right,‟ he said, and he stood up, took off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves. I forgot to breathe, my wine glass frozen in my hand, watching him like a tiny mouse in the sights of a raptor. „If this goes well for you, then, Kat, perhaps we can come to a more formal arrangement. But first, I need you to put down that glass and fetch the straight-backed chair from the corner, please.‟

My chest decompressed in an undignified rush. I rose on shaky legs and went to fetch the chair, which was plain old-fashioned wood with a very high back and no arms, in the Shaker style, I suppose, though I‟m not sure that‟s still in fashion. I could imagine Professor Strict – or whatever his real name was – as the preacher of some old-time religion, thumping the Bible in a kitchen with a similar light oak finish. Sending the girls outside to cut switches: oh yes, he had that look.

Shaker style was apt, because I was shaking, nay quaking, with the enormity of what I was doing. This was really happening. I could leave. I didn‟t have to go through with it.

But he took my elbow, firmly but not painfully, seated himself on the austere chair of chastisement, and pulled 28

me down over his lap in such a seamless gesture that I almost didn‟t realise what he was doing. Talk about a shift in perspective. There, stomach pressed tightly to his expensively-trousered thighs, legs sloping down to the floor and head dangling perilously close to the shiny leather of his shoe, I truly felt the ignominy of my position. I was not even remotely in control of this situation, even though I was the „client‟ and he the

„service provider‟. It was such … a relief. Yes. A relief.

What happened next would not and should not be up to me. I wanted it to be up to him. And I knew he would not fail me.

„Do you think you‟ll be able to keep still? Or should I hold your wrists behind your back?‟

„I really don‟t know. I‟ve never …‟

„All right. We‟ll see how we get on.‟ One hand cupped the tartan seat of my skirt, tapping it lightly and experimentally. „How‟s your pain threshold?‟

„OK, I think.‟

„If you get to the point where you really can‟t bear any more, you must tell me. Think of a word.‟

My mind went blank. Think of a word? What sort of a word? Any old word?

„Or should I think of one for you?‟

„Yes please.‟

„OK, the word is Antidisestablishmentarianism. Got that?‟

I giggled and squirmed in his lap. „That‟s too long!‟ I objected.

„You had your chance. Right then. I hear you‟ve been a bad girl, Kat, is that right?‟

„Yes,‟ I muttered, glad that he could not see my flushed face.

„Didn‟t catch that, Kat,‟ he said, with a leisurely swipe 29

of my behind that shocked more than it hurt. „Was that Yes? Or was it Yes, sir? Which do you think is the right answer?‟

„Yes, sir,‟ I squeaked.

„Better. So what do you think happens to bad girls, Kat? Bad girls who come to my home?‟

„I think … they get a spanking, sir.‟

He rubbed my skirt over my bottom, the hem tickling my thigh so that I wriggled. „Is this irritating you, Kat?

Perhaps we should get it out of the way.‟ He raised the material to reveal my white cotton briefs, stretched tight over my vulnerable globes. „That was the right answer, incidentally. Well done. Can‟t say it‟s going to spare you any of what‟s coming to you though. Speaking of which …‟

His hand raised the most resounding crack Oh, on the thin cotton his hand raised the most resounding crack, making me jerk and yelp in surprise. The fabric was barely any barrier at all to his painful purpose, and he rained down a few more, glorying in the crispness and efficiency of his technique, for I was already whimpering and trying to rearrange myself to a less wide-open position on his lap – which he was having none of, of course.

„You asked for this, Kat,‟ he said warningly. „You know it‟s what you need. You shouldn‟t fight it, should you?‟

„No, sir.‟

„No, sir. That‟s right.‟ And his hand was being gentle now, rubbing at the site of the soreness, dissipating the sting. „This‟ll help you take a longer spanking,‟ he told me, ruining my illusion that it was all out of the kindness of his heart. „Short, sharp shocks are all very well, but I think a good, long session over my lap will be better for 30