The Viewing Of Me

Look at them, looking at me

In neat little rows, my classmates you see

Dutifully diligent, their heads well raised

Backs rigidly straight, hands folded not lazed

In disdain or amusement, anticipating they stare

I laugh in silence amidst their glare

The aisles he walks, his back to me

Mr. Strict is the name, I gave him with glee

Clacking and clattering, his yardstick is waved

From desktop to desktop, not a one is saved

With the whipping stick's swish, my classmates he scares

Alone I await what wicked fates he dares

Strict he is, but what did I do?

"Nothing," I say. "Something," Says you.

Hands on my head, before all who would peer

For the sake of nothingness, one is not here

Consider my choices and the chances I take

Can you safely assume there has been a mistake?

Could it be gum, I left on the floor?

Stuck to his shoe, Strict would roar

Or perhaps it was his lecture I did disrupt

Were my insights untrue and unduly abrupt?

Am I a victim, the object of vengeance so undeserved?

Or do you believe, justice is here and soon to be served?

Horns or a halo, what do you say?

Proof my hands hide, each and every way

In shadows of darkness I so easily conceal

Wings of feather or a fiendish tail's zeal

Truth is mine and it I will keep

Say what you will, but I am in too deep

The reasons of why matter not at all

I am here for a point and it is not to stall

Smiling through this frown is not a disguise

It is only the view seen through your eyes

But be it laughter or tears soon to be heard

I promise you this, I will have the last word

The moment approaches and so does he

His eyes are fixed and staring at me

With flicks of his wrist, the yardstick still waves

A response I could give, yet my finger behaves

Containing excitement, I hold this pose

Near as he comes, my eyes do not close

Options he has and he considers them well

Every tool of his trade has a story to tell

A choice in paddles, leather or wood

Solid or holed, he knows they are good

Straps seem benign until they are swung

Notice you will take if they have a split tongue

The time is now, there is nowhere to flee

Will he bend me in half over his knee?

Over a desk, he could force me to lay

My skirt is too short, will he take it away?

Bottoms are bared, this truth I know

Will you watch my cheeks as they begin to glow?

Strict he is and strict is his game

Even upside down it is all the same

His strokes fall fast and even in spread

This bottom and face must certainly be red

My top slips up with nothing left to conceal

Your wandering eyes have sealed the deal

This naughty one knows, this naughty one sees

As bad as I am, no one disagrees

We all are aware in this I am bold

The silence I keep, I have never told

But you are the ones bad to the bone

And yes this truth, I have always known

An Enduring Purpose

He stood and gestured toward the angled chair sitting before his desk. I hesitated, stepping just inside the room and allowed the door to close behind me. He was clean and proper, displaying the courteous professionalism for which he was known. The smile on his lips, simultaneously friendly and reserved, felt infinitely more real than the nervous upward twinge on my own lips. He had nothing to be nervous about.

"Make yourself comfortable," He said.

If the irony of his statement was intentional I could not tell. I forced myself to move my stiff legs forward until they carried me beside the chair. He watched for a moment before moving out from behind his desk to a small table set against the wall. Vaguely aware of his movements, my eyes focused on the wall behind his desk. The prominent display was frightening, exhilarating.

"Would you like a drink?" He asked glancing at me over his shoulder. "Some tea or water perhaps?"

"Anything stronger?" I asked with a nervous giggle on my voice.

He smiled back at me and said, "I'm afraid that's strictly against the rules."

"Right," I said, taking in a deep breath and tearing my eyes away from the display. "Some water would be fine."

Resting his hand on the back of the chair, he handed me an ice cold bottle and said, "Please, sit down."

Although the words were the politeness of request, his tone was commanding. My hands smoothed away invisible wrinkles in my skirt and I sat. His hand brushed over my shoulder. The contact felt like an electric jolt, fleeting and sharp. He took his place behind the desk, hands folded neatly on the barren desktop. I shrunk into the chair, his gentle smile failing to distract from his stern gaze.

"Tell me," He said, "why are you here?"

"I, um... well, uh,"I said, fumbling for words. Mentally, I kicked myself for being unprepared for even the most obvious of questions. Adding to my confusion, his face gave no sign as to what kind of answer he wanted. There was the unfortunate series of events leading up to being caught and then there was the consequences of being caught, but in perspective they were only the most recent steps on a path that seemed to be inevitably leading me to the day I would sit before him. None of it seemed relevant.

"I don't know," I said.

"Surely, you must have some idea."

"It's Theresa," I said giggling, knowing it was entirely inappropriate.

"If you would rather go," He said with a nod toward the door and I replied, "No."

He said, "Theresa, I understand it is difficult for you, but you must at least try or nothing I do will matter."

"Will you," I said, my eyes drifting back to the display on his wall, suggesting that which I could not bring myself to say.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, turning his head to follow my gaze. "Is that why you are here?"

"I think so," I said. He perked an eyebrow and his chin lowered, scolding me for the ambiguity of my answer. A flash of conviction swept over me. The same conviction which had carried me to his office, walked me inside the room and sat me in the chair. "Yes."

"You believe you have earned it?" He said.

Was he suggesting I had not or did he mean something more, something deeper? He remained a mystery to me. His expression gave no hints to his thoughts, his folded hands offered no explanations. I searched his eyes, felt myself falling into them and had to look away. He knew everything about me, even the things I did not.

"I do," I said, wringing my hands.

"Once we begin, there is no going back," He said.

Desperate for the wait to end, I said, "I know."

He said, "There are things once done, which cannot be undone."

"I know."

"You will feel pain," He said and I nodded. "You will beg me to stop," He said and I closed my eyes, "but I will not listen. You will plead for mercy and forgiveness, but they are not mine to give. You will cry tears of sorrow and remorse, but I will not be dissuaded. You will be punished."

A sane woman would have walked out the door and never looked back. I know this with certainty because my desire to leave and my need to stay were ripping me in two. If I stayed he would hurt me. He would make me regret the decision many times over. I knew his words were more than empty threats and I also knew if I walked out the door, I would be left empty and wondering. I opened my eyes and met his gaze across the desk.

"I understand," I said.

"You think you do," He said with a slight nod, "but I know you don't. No one ever understands until they've stepped passed the point of no return."

"Are you suggesting I should leave?" I asked.

"If I can persuade you to leave, then you should," He said.

"I'm staying," I said, uncertain whether it was stubbornness or stupidity controlling me.

He unfolded his hands and pulled a single sheet of paper from his desk drawer, sliding it across his desk toward me. I leaned forward resting my hands on the front edge of his desk, gaining a better view of the words printed on the page. He slipped a heavy pen on top of the page and refolded his hands, watching me.

"I thought I already completed the necessary paperwork?" I said.

He said, "This is a final summary of the terms and conditions of your enrollment. Once you have signed the bottom of the page you will be officially admitted."

"And if I don't?" I asked.

"Your application will be cancelled and you walk away," He said. "If you have doubts—

"No," I said picking up the pen, "I'm apprehensive, but given the circumstances I think you can understand."

"Naturally," He said. "You have limited experience with corporal punishment and the prospect of it is frightening."

"I'm used to being in control," I said.

"And once you sign that page, the only thing you will control is whether or not you follow the rules I set," He said.

I nodded.

"If you would like to take a few more days to think about it," He said, "there is no rush."

"I made up my mind before I arrived," I said and signed the bottom of the page.

He picked up the paper and slipped the pen into his desk drawer. Briskly, he walked to the door and opened it, disappearing outside for the briefest of moments before returning and closing the door once more. I listened to his footsteps behind me. My eyes focused on the wall and the implements of discipline hanging there. Fear lumped in my throat refusing to be swallowed or ignored.

"Stand up," He said.

I pushed myself from the chair. Temptation urged me to turn around to look at him. I steeled myself against it and cast my gaze downward at the empty desk. He paced from side to side behind me, his heels clacking against the floor. I felt his eyes appraising my back and backside. My future was in his hands and we both knew it.

"Face me," He said and I turned on my heels. "Your attire is adequate with one exception. Those boots will have to go. Remove them."

I looked down at me feet. It had been an impulse to put them on. Like so many decisions in my life, it had been poorly thought out. Leaning awkwardly against his desk, I slipped them off one at a time. I sensed a flicker of disapproval in his gaze, but when I looked up, boots in hand, it was gone. My eyes scanned the room for a place to put my boots.

"Give them here," He said and I did. He threw them across the room to land haphazardly in an empty corner.

"We shall begin with a caning," He said.

My mouth dropped. I had known it would come in time. There was no avoiding it. It was my expectation to be broken in more slowly. Having rarely felt even the least severe of his implements, I anticipated a reunion with those long before tasting the cane. The glimmer in his eyes suggested he knew my every expectation and had chosen the cane for precisely that reason. I closed my mouth and straightened my shoulders. He nodded and stepped passed me, no doubt on his way to retrieve the implement of his choice.

"Go and stand in the corner next to your boots," He said and I did.

I felt safe staring at my narrow view of white wall. It was embarrassing as well. Think of it; A grown woman standing in the corner like a misbehaving girl. My imagined image of myself was enough to make me blush, especially knowing that he was seeing the reality. He swished the cane in the open air behind me. My muscles tensed anticipating an impact which never fell.

"You have never felt the cane, have you?" He asked.

"No," I said.

"You will address me as Sir," He said.

I remained silent, staring at the joining of white walls.

"It is a singular implement," He said. "Its purpose is to inflict pain and it does it well. We all have a purpose and mine is to ensure you are as efficient in your purpose as the cane is in its. Do you know what your purpose is Theresa?"

"No, sir."

"We will endeavor to discover it together," He said, "but for today your purpose is to endure. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"We shall see," He said. "Take two steps back from the corner."

"Yes, sir," I said and obeyed.

"Keep your legs straight and together," He said. "Bend down and touch your toes."

"Yes, sir," I said and bent over, stretching my arms toward my toes, conscious of my legs and knees begging to bend. A sense of pride washed over me as my fingertips brushed against the white socks covering my toes and then a blush washed over my face as I felt a cool breeze tickle my upper thighs, my skirts hem having risen beyond the point of protection.

From my upside down perspective, I watched him. He stepped closer to me. I could smell the polish on his shoes. He grabbed the hem of my skirt and flipped it onto my back. I resisted the urge to shudder, knowing he had an unobstructed view of my pantie clad bottom. His fingers slipped into the waistband.

"Please," I said and he said, "Silence!"

He slipped them down below my bottom. Shame swam in my head, flushing my cheeks hotter. The things he could see, the things he could do, danced around in my thoughts. He stepped back from me and I could see his calm and unaffected face. Panic gave way to reason and I knew I could trust him.

"I think six will suffice for a first time," He said.

"Yes, sir."

"You will count them each and thank me," He said.

"Yes, sir."

He raised the cane against my bottom as if measuring the width. I held my breath, waiting for the strike. It came with a dull thud and rattle. There was a mild sting, but not the searing pain I had been expecting. From the tales of caning I had read, I expected the sensation to be something akin to being branded. It was a relief to be wrong.

I said, "One, thank you, sir."

The cane tapped against the center of my bottom, reminding me there was more to come. I gazed upward trying to glimpse his face. Had he held back on the first? There was no sign of it, no compassion, no anger, just a simple smile on a professional face. He raised the cane and lashed it against my bottom. At first there was nothing more than the first time, but a half second later a sensation, not unlike fire, streaked its way across my bottom. My wide eyes blinked.

"Two, thank you, sir," I said.

I felt the cane tapping against my bottom again. My bottom pulsed in perfect harmony until he pulled the cane back. I squeezed my eyes closed, listening to it swish through the air. It thwacked against my bottom and in its aftermath the fire burned hotter. Tears stung in my eyes. I gulped air and forced my fingers to reach farther for my toes. Every impulse demanded I clutch my bottom and jump circles around the room, begging for leniency. Instead, I endured.

"Three, thank you, sir," I said.

"Starting to feel it now are we?" He asked.

At any other point in my life, I would have considered his question rhetorical. I might have even joked about the concept he and I would be feeling anything remotely similar. This however, was a different time and place. My body was stretched taught and my bottom was bared and burning with the implement of my discomfort held in his hand. He stood ready to deliver more and he would. The only question was how many more that would be and my answer or lack of it could well be the answer.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"As you're meant to," He said and raised the cane again only to bring it back down with another solid thwack across my bottom.

"Oh," I cried, feeling the burn intensifying to yet another level. My legs began to quiver. Tears seeped from the corners of my eyes. My fingers twitched, begging to apply their comforting touch to my tortured flesh. I sniffled, holding back the stream of pleas threatening to burst from my chest. Never in my life had I resisted so many conflicting urges, but I endured.

"Four, thank you, sir," I said.

Through teardrops I watched him tap the cane on my bottom. His expression remained unchanged. Holding my breath, I listened to the cane swish backward through the air and then forward. On impact, I lurched forward, up onto my tiptoes, bottom bouncing high into the air. Precariously balanced, I struggled against my reflexes. A moment later my feet rested back on the floor. My bottom throbbed and I endured.

"Five, thank you, sir," I said.

"Last one," He said and whipped the cane across my bottom.

My eyes shot wide open. I screamed without sound, sucking in air. My legs trembled and my hands balled into fists. I blinked through puddles of tears. My bottom pulsed and throbbed like fire and flame. Consumed by the pain, I forgot everything. I held to my position like it was the last fragile tether to my sanity. The intensity of the fire passed and I was left breathless. Memory came rushing back, pride following in its footsteps. I had endured.

"Six, thank you, sir," I said.

"An excellent beginning," He said, stepping away from me for a better view, "Wouldn't you agree?"

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Now you shall remain as you are and contemplate what it means to endure," He said, walking toward the door. "I will be back later to dismiss you."

The door creaked open and he left. My bottom ached for attention as I blinked through tears. All I wanted was to find a quiet place to lay my head down and hold my burning bottom. Outside the door, I could hear the footsteps of passersby. The door remained open and although I could see no one, the occasional giggle seemed to certainly indicate the view was much better from outside. I tried to ignore it. I tried to focus on myself and my position. I tried to endure.

Spanking, Interrupted

The faint scent of musk drifting through the room alerted me to his presence. I kept my place, standing before the window, gazing out over the tile rooftops and the neighborhood streets beyond. My ears prickled at the sound of his soft footsteps approaching from behind. I repressed a shudder at the creak of the loose board behind the couch and allowed myself a smile at his pale reflection in the window's glass.

"You know why I'm here," He said.

His voice emoted calmness, it resonated with confidence. I felt neither with his meticulous eyes on my back. The sun's glare turned from hopeful to ominous and the smile faded from my lips. Biting my lip, I closed my eyes and wished for something to change, but when I opened my eyes again, the world was just the same. I reach out with both hands to pull the curtains closed.

"Leave them," He said as my fingertips pinched closed on the curtain's fabric. I hesitated, turned my head to question him from over my shoulder. Admonishing me with a wagging finger, he shook his head and said, "You were supposed to be ready."

Leaving the curtains open as they were, I dropped my hands back to my sides and turned to face him properly. His eyes scouted their way up and down my body like a thousand tentacles reaching out to assess every fold of fabric, caressing every curve of flesh. I searched him for any sign of tenderness, but there was none to be found. He was firm in every detail from the stiff collar of his white starched shirt to the perfect cuffs of his black dress slacks.

"Are you?" He asked.

"I am," I said.

My voice sounded distant, quiet, meek. The words were bold enough and possibly a lie, but I was committed. If he knew anything of my thoughts, he kept the revelations well hidden. I breathed through the moment, my knees surprisingly steady while I waited for him to make the next move. He took a step toward me and I wished he would have taken them all. The distance left between us felt all wrong, not close enough to hold, too far to appreciate.

"Show me," He said, idle fingers hiding his lips from my view.

I watched his face. Reaching behind me, my fingers found the zipper holding my dress closed. I tugged it downward noticing for the first time how similar it sounded to a kitten purring. If he noticed, his face gave no indication. I pushed the left shoulder down my arm, exposing the pale flesh to his hungry view. His fingers continued to hide his lips, but I imagined a smile behind them. Pulling my left arm completely free, I reached across myself, fingers delicately caressing the material hiding my right shoulder. I searched his face for a reaction and finding nothing, I pushed my right arm free of the dress.

The half discarded garment rested on my hips. My arms crossed in front of me, hands grabbing opposite shoulders, hiding my bosom from his greedy eyes. A flicker of impatience slipped across his tense jaw, his eyes searching for a glimpse of forbidden flesh. A surge of pride washed over me, knowing I had his complete and utter attention. It was everything I had ever wanted, euphoric and powerful.

I wriggled my hips, expecting the dress to fall to the floor, but it held tight. A roundness rose to his cheeks and I knew he was enjoying the visual stimulation. Stepping a single leg forward, I uncrossed my arms and pushed the dress down passed my hips until it fell free to the floor. I stepped free of it with one leg and with the other I hooked the toe of my shoe into the material and kicked. The dress fluttered through the air between us, crashing into his waist and falling to his feet.

Resting my hands on my hips, I allowed his eyes full access to appreciate the black lingerie I had chosen for him. The twitch in his trousers told me he did. His fingers slipped down from his upturned lips and stroked his chin. All my apprehensions slipped away, replaced by a confidence I had never felt before. Every doubt I had ever had eradicated itself, turned to dust and blew away.

"More?" I asked.

"Not yet," He said.

He walked closer to me until I could feel the heat emanating from his body. I gazed into his eyes, but they were looking elsewhere. He moved behind me and despite the temptation to turn and watch his every move, I remained still. His breath tickled the hairs on the back of my neck. My skin prickled in response to his proximity. I yearned for single touch. Closing my eyes and I exhaled temptation and frustration.

His fingertips brushed against the waistband of my panties. I held perfectly still hoping his touch would not fade. His fingertips traced the length my spine upward until they met the band of my bra. He paused a moment to unhook the clasp before resuming the path upward to the base of my neck. I held my breath. His fingers slipped upward, combing into my hair.

"You," He said, lips brushing against my earlobe, breath tickling the hairs around my ear, "are very, very naughty."

His teeth pinched the hanging flesh of my earlobe. I shuddered. His fingers dropped out of my hair, tracing down the length of my neck until his hands rested on my shoulders. He turned me to him, pulled me closer. My lips parted, hungry for even a fleeting kiss. His left hand slipped down from my shoulder, tickling my skin until it came to a rest, cupping my breast in his palm. He squeezed, forcing me to exhale sharply.

I stretched toward his lips with my own, but he kept himself just beyond my reach. His free hand slapped down against my butt, sending wobbles of tingling excitement through my every fiber. I gasped and chirped. He stepped into me, his lips greedily swallowing my passion with a deep kiss. Pulling away he tugged my bra from my breasts and sent it sailing across the room to join my dress on the floor. I swam in dizziness.

Taking a firm grip on my upper arm, he guided me across the floor to the couch. He knelt at my feet and I stared down at him with quizzical eyes. A leg at a time he lifted my feet and carefully removed my heels, tossing them aside. His hands traced their way up my legs, tickling through my stockings until they came to rest at my waist. He slipped his fingers into the waistband of my panties and tugged them down my legs with lightning speed. My hands sprang from their restful state dangling at my sides and covered my sex from from his view. He brushed them aside with a shake of his head. His eyes claimed ownership and I surrendered to it.

"Kneel," He said, pointing at the couch.

I hesitated only a moment before climbing onto the couch and resting on my hands and knees. He stood up and stepped a few feet away. I could feel his eyes wandering over every exposed inch of me. The air tickled with excitement. I tried to focus on the simple act of breathing, but my thoughts ran wild. My body ached for his touch. His fingers returned to stroking his chin, taunting me with inattention.

He closed the distance between us once more. Fingertips danced across my back with the lightness of a feather. My muscles tensed against the ticklish pleasure. I tossed my head back and moaned. Arching my back, I attempted to strengthen the contact between our flesh. He laughed.

"Stay down," He said and I forced myself to obey.

His hand slapped against my protruding buttocks. The force rippled through my body. My breasts swung like synchronized pendulums. Glancing to my side, I could see he was watching everything. The spanks continued to fall at a steady rhythm. My body ached for every touch, burned with its absence and tingled with a dizzying mixture of pleasure and pain. I cried out begging for it to end, praying it never would.

He stopped to fondle me. The warmth of his hands melted me into mush as he massaged my stinging buttocks. Gentle fingertips traced the curves of my bottom all the way down to the tops of my stockings and then back up. He tickled my sides, running his hands over me until they found my hanging breasts. He pinched and teased until I thought I could not stand another second. His hands slipped away and I felt abandoned. Ending my solitude, his hand slapped down again, spanking me, loving me.

The heat built into flame. I closed my eyes, concentrating on every fleeting touch of his open palm. Embracing the tingles and jolts shooting through my body, I floated on desire. His hands continued their work, spanking and teasing me. Tears welled in my eyes, but sadness was absent. I craved it all and he knew exactly what to do.

His phone rang and he stopped. "Sit down," he said, pulling it out. Breathless, disappointed, I altered my position as he desired. His eyes flickered between the display and me. I brought my leg up onto the couch and began to slip my stocking off, hoping to recapture his full attention.

"Did I tell you to do that?" He asked.

I stopped with the stocking still above my knee and shook my head.

"I have to go, but I won't be long," He said, walking away from me to the front door. "Be a good girl."

"Don't make me wait," I said and he smiled at me from the door. Without another word he walked out and closed the door, leaving me naked, alone, and waiting.

Updates And A Question

Projects, projects, and more projects. I have been meaning to write this update on things for a little bit, but like everything else lately, it kept getting put off. Well not everything gets put off, but priorities have a way of shifting on a daily basis. Right now and for the next couple of weeks my first priority is Quest Five though and I don't think that will be changing.

I've had a few people asking about The Retreat, it was supposed to be finished two or three weeks ago. It is still coming, but the story actually has ended up being a bit longer than I originally anticipated. The greater length should be good overall, but it has meant the story is taking longer to finish. I am tempted to give a new estimated date of completion, but having missed the last one completely, I would rather say, I'll keep you updated.

Jessica's Toil will also be delayed a bit from its original date because with me still working on The Retreat, I have not had the time available to push it forward. Jessica's Toil will get tackled, but I am considering pushing it off even further because of another idea which I'm very excited to work on. Time will tell and I will keep you updated here.

The newest story being added to my list of works in progress goes along with the included pic and it's called Lyrics Are Lies. The story will be set during the prohibition era in the United States. I won't give too much detail at this juncture because the story is still largely in the planning stage, but this is shaping up as the project to follow The Retreat. It is looking to be a story primarily about forbidden love between a singer at a speakeasy and a Federal law enforcement officer. The dynamics of the basic relationship seem pretty engaging, but I'm working on including quite a few nice extras to the story from spankings to adultery and blackmail. Not everyone's cup of tea I'm sure, but I'm pretty excited to write this one.

For those who read and enjoy Quest Five, you've probably already guessed the story is coming to a conclusion. I started writing Quest Five last April and now after almost a full year of writing the story is coming to its final chapters. The various plots and subplots are all coming to their ends and I'm now at a point where I have to decide precisely what kind of an ending I'm going to give Allison and her colleagues.

I've narrowed it down to two real possibilities, but I find myself vacillating between them. Should I close the story out for good, give the characters their respective endings, happy and content with all things set to right in the world? It is tempting of course. Allison has been through a marathon of trials and it seems only fair in the end she should enjoy the rewards of perseverance. This is perfect and right, but only if I'm truly finished with Allison.

The fact is, I've loved writing Quest Five. I'm attached in a very personal way to the characters and I'm not totally sure I'm ready to give them up. The current story has to come to an end of course, its time is upon us and the story was planned from the start to come to this point. I need a break as well. Writing fifty to a hundred pages a month is tiring and time consuming. There are lots of other projects I'm looking forward to working on, but what if I want to come back to Quest Five after a few months? Well then, I need an ending which I can easily pick up from and begin a new story. It wouldn't necessarily be as satisfying nor as happy, but an ending with possibilities for the future sounds pretty good too.

So I guess the question comes down to this, and I'd love to hear from anyone with an opinion on the story; Should I end Quest Five permanently and move on to other stories or should I leave it open for a second story and plan on a return to it in the future?

No Other Way

I knelt on the bed. My hands and knees pressed into the firmness of the mattress, indenting its smooth surface. I could barely feel the light weight of the strap laying across the middle of my back. More obvious, was the elastic of my shorts pressing against my upper thighs, well lower than my waist where they were meant to reside. Drawing even more attention was the burning, red sting so recently imparted to my buttocks and the morning sunlight shining through the bedroom window, exposing them.

"Was it worth it?" He asked and I turned my head to look at him. I hoped the dried tears on my cheeks would give the illusion of the contriteness he expected. The question elicited memories of the previous night, bringing a faint smile to my lips. The short answer was most definitely a yes.

The moment had been long in coming. It might have come sooner had I set out to accomplish it, but such a goal was not mine. The spark of it could change everything going forward, even if the goal seems contrary to my best interests. Not that I expect anyone to understand, but the moment has its allure.

When he flung the door open, I felt the cold flash of terror washing over me. Even the warmth of being nestled within my covers fled. Not a word was spoke as he walked across the floor ignoring my fearful gaze. His hands threw open the curtains, inviting in the morning sunlight from which I wanted to hide. I threw a hand up to shield my eyes from the light and groaned as the previous evening's illicit activities shot throbbing pain through my still tired head.

He marched to the foot of the bed and stood staring down over me with scolding eyes. The flutter of butterfly wings in my stomach washed over me, leaving me trembling. He had made the threats on previous occasions and looking up at him, I knew the time for threats had come and gone. The hard line of his jaw was sign enough of his intention to follow through and I knew the time had come.

"Up," He said. The succinctness of his command resonated within in my ears indicating the relative shortness of his remaining patience. I blinked at him, my pouting lip protruding just enough to search out a tenderness in his heart, but unsurprisingly finding it absent. My breath froze in lungs and my mind emptied itself of all coherent thought leaving me with nothing more than emotion and impulse.

I hugged the covers closer to my body, seeking warmth and comfort, but there was none to be found. He reached out, snagging the foot of the covers in his hand and ripping them from me. Instinctively, I reached for them only to have them slip through my trembling fingertips and be thrown across the room from his disgruntled hand. I watched them sail through the air and morning sunlight, crashing against the wall and tumbling into a puddle of softness hidden by shadows.

He pointed to the spot on the wall above my bed. I had no need to look, but I did anyway. Sadness gripped me, my eyes began to water and nothing could make me look away. The strap hung against the barren whiteness of the wall. I knew what he expected, but my arms would not obey. The strap remained steady, unflinching, unmoving and his finger remained just as stubbornly fixed in place, pointing at the implement. Had I not intervened there might have been a cataclysm of untold proportions.

I reached up and took the strap from its home. It laid heavy in my hands as if it were almost sorrowful and laden with guilt for its purpose. I would have offered comfort, but there was little point because in his hands, there would be no comfort or comforting. He barely waited for me to offer it to him before taking it from my hands. I watched it fall limp in his hands and offered it a sympathetic smile before turning my attentions to him and his unflinching gaze.

His crooked finger pointed at the floor at the foot of my bed. I shook my head in protest, but the finger remained fixated on the spot on the floor. Dragging my feet along the smoothness of the floor, I approached the location indicated. The finger returned to his side and he stared at me as if he expected something more. I knew what he wanted, but I wanted to hear the commands from his mouth.

"Bend over," He said.

The resonance of his voice tugged at the corners of my lips, dragging out hints of a smile. I turned to face the bed and leaned over the foot board. My hands pressed against the mattress, my buttocks felt unnaturally pushed to protrude behind me. His hands came to rest against my waist, fingertips brushing against the skin of my stomach before gently pulling my pajama bottoms down exposing just enough of my bottom to make it feel like a target between my top and bottoms.

I enjoyed the quiet moment while he appraised the milky whiteness of my backside. The sunlight warmed the skin and relaxed my muscles. He waited, the strap held firm in his hand, and he stared as if he might have been having second thoughts about what he was going to do. Had I the voice to put words to the feeling pulsing through me, I would have nudged him onwards, but in the moment I was mute.

My body jerked, my eyes blinked and then I felt it. The lash of the strap against my bare skin rippled through my nerves, sending waves of warmth emanating outward to my extremities. I breathed just in time for a second lash to come crashing down. A scream might have escaped my lips, but it was only a natural response to the pain. It was not the strap's fault nor was it even his fault.

The strap continued to sing through the air. My legs began to kick in response and my breath grew more and more ragged with each successive lash. The burning discomfort began to pulse in sync with the gyrations of my body trying to avoid the next stroke. Tears dripped from eyes to the mattress below and as they did, guilt slipped away, replaced by a conviction to do better. Even in the moment I knew the conviction would last only so long as the burn and sting reminded me, but in truth I would have it no other way.