Thursday, February 1
It proved an undesirable coincidence that today, I planned to discuss secrets and their effects on mental health with my psychology students, and today, I was meeting him for the first time.
I began my lecture with, “Everyone in this room has a secret.”
“Even you?” A cheeky young male student asked me.
I hesitated before answering, avoiding eye contact with him, fearing I’d reveal too much. “Eyes are the window to the soul,” as the saying goes, and I didn’t want to give my students even the tiniest glimpse into mine.
“Yes, even me,” I replied, but struggled to keep a calm, even tone.
My legs started to quiver, so I paced while continuing. “Today, we explore sexual secrets. For women, sexual secrets are usually sexual victimization, emotional cheating, pornography, use of sex toys, and interest in BDSM.” My voice cracked on those last four words — nerves rattling my usual steady composure.
At first, thoughts of spanking only mildly intruded upon my planned lecture. But that soon changed. I became preoccupied — and wet — with what awaited me later that night.
As I continued my teaching, I grew panicky, worrying that the more astute students might notice the change in my behavior around this topic. After all, I’d taught them to pay attention to people’s facial expressions and body language. What was mine revealing?
Around halfway through the class hour, I moved behind the podium to discreetly tug my panties out of my snatch’s sodden crevices — a desperate attempt to feel more comfortable. I looked down upon my breasts. Were my hardening nipples protruding through the flimsy fabric of my blouse?
My anxiety spiraled out of control, affecting all my senses. The clock’s moving hands loudly ticked in my ears, further disrupting my lecture.
Its torturous ticks seemed to slow to a snail’s pace. In my twisted mind, the ticks became snaps — snaps of leather against my flesh. I reached for a tissue to dab the beads of sweat from my brow. Millions of spider legs skittered across my flesh as I pictured myself naked and waiting for a strike by the unknown silhouette.
Tick! Tick! Tick!
Snap! Snap! Snap!
I violently shuddered.
Oh no, I’m showing myself!
My eyes darted from student to student, checking for signs they’d discovered my secret.
I dabbed at another wet bead on my face and decided not to push my luck. “Let’s call it quits for today, shall we? Read the next three chapters before the next class and come prepared for discussion.”
I fanned myself with a notepad while the students shuffled out of the auditorium.
Looking back at the uncooperative clock, I murmured foul words I didn’t usually speak. Two more hours remained before it was time to meet him.
~O~
I sat in my small electric car about ten feet from his driveway, trying, yet failing, to talk myself into turning around and forgetting the whole thing. What I was about to do wasn’t something I normally did. But then again, I’d found I wasn’t normal, was I?
I didn’t know the man I would soon become intimately acquainted with. Deep inside, however, I knew I would regret it if I gave up this opportunity. And so, at precisely seven o'clock, I found myself on his doorstep.
As he opened the front door, my eyes shot to his belt — sleek, black leather with an intimidating brass buckle. To most, it was a boring accessory with a singular purpose. Yet, to me, it was an extension of the man — another appendage capable of fulfilling the desires I’d kept sequestered in the dark crevices of my mind.
Something else caught my eye about his belt. Oddly, there were holes in the leather just a few inches from the buckle. What is their purpose? I wondered.
He moved closer, and his towering presence stole my attention from his belt. I guess he could have been of shorter stature, but somehow, I knew he’d be tall. Silly as it may be, in my mind, height would accompany dominance.
He wasn’t particularly handsome, what with his hawkish nose and eyes set so deep his brows seemed to cast a shadow on his high cheekbones. But none of that mattered. It wasn’t as if we were going to date. No, that’s not why I was there.
As I sat on his comfortable couch, he chatted as if we were old friends — asking about my day while soft classical music played in the background.
Luxurious rugs blanketed wooden floors. Original artworks hung from polished plaster walls that reflected soft light through an open-plan living area. His sophisticated taste was evident. I guess I’d expected his home to be a little more uncivilized.
I had met him online on one of those sites decent people shouldn’t know about. I’d told him I desired to experience a belting. Nothing more. I’d grown weary and even detested my self-analysis around this subject and decided I must undergo a belting to truly understand my fetish.
His instructions had been simple: arrive precisely at seven o’clock on Thursday evening, wearing a comfortable dress of my choosing. Oh, and leave my knickers (his word for my panties) at home.
Once we reached a lull in our conversation, he asked if I was ready to begin. I nodded, and he led me down a hallway to a door, then, with his hand on the brass knob, turned to face me.
“I am ‘Sir’. Inside this room, you are my submissive. Don’t speak unless spoken to or for using your safe word: ‘stop.’ Understand?”
I nodded, suddenly nervous by the abrupt change in his demeanor and the stern edge that now sharpened his refined English accent.
He continued, “On the other side of this door is another world — a unique world of our creation. And while you have a safe word, use it, and we’re finished. You’ll leave, and we won’t see one other again.”
I gulped. The finality in that statement scared me. Could I handle what he was about to do to me?
Once the door shut behind us, his face changed. He’d abandoned the gentleman back in the hallway. A different side of him was about to hurt me. I didn’t know how much. And that thrilled me the most.
Plush crimson drapes covered two of the walls. Precisely what they covered piqued my interest, but he led me to another wall lined with an oversized couch with rolled upholstered arms.
I stood still, unsure what to do next, and he walked up behind me. His warm breath raised the tiny hairs on my neck. “Bend over,” he ordered.
Oh my, it’s happening…
I bent at the waist and allowed my arms to dangle in front of me before deciding to grasp my ankles for support. I saw his feet moving around me. He circled like a hawk who’d seen a tiny bird in a bush below.
He dragged the hem of my dress up my thighs and over my bottom and then placed it around my upper body. Exposed, I waited. And waited. I peeked through my legs and saw him crouched behind me. The weight of his gaze on my bottom almost threw me over. My face scrunched, and my cheeks clenched for the strike. It never came.
“Rise. Bend over the arm of the couch,” he ordered.
As instructed, I draped my body over a thick arm that lifted my bottom. I tasted blood as I bit my lip, anxious for what would come next. He made no move to remove his belt; instead, he adjusted my hips and scooted me forward, then backward, as if I were some sort of prop. Doubts crept in. Insecurity erased the erotic pictures previously occupying my mind.
Am I not suiting him? This is a mistake!
I was planning my escape, and then his voice broke my cowardly train of thought. “That’s all for today,” he casually remarked, as if he’d commented on the weather.
Wait… what?
I opened my mouth to protest, and he shot a finger to his lips, reminding me not to speak unless asked. He repeated, “I said, ‘That’s all. For today.’”
I’m not sure how I drove home. Confused. Rejected. Angry. Tears clouded my vision, endlessly streaming until I collapsed in bed and then awoke the next day.
The sun peeking through my blinds failed to brighten my brooding mood. My mind was a tortured mess for the next several days, much like the sticky mess between my legs. I refused to bring myself relief, convinced I had somehow caused him to reject me. Yet, he didn’t entirely reject me, telling me to return the following week.
My brain, trained to unearth the “whys” behind actions, hitched to “why” he abruptly ended our arranged session.
Over the next week, I tried to remove myself from the equation and focus on the man. Had he simply lost his nerve? No, that wasn’t the answer. Replaying the scene in my head, he’d remained unwavering and confident, never hesitating, even when he ended our session.
I entertained the notion that he was a sociopath. Hadn’t he exhibited the classic pull-and-push behavior with his target?
But, with my hurt feelings and shame over my fetish, I kept reverting to the notion that it was something I’d done wrong. I had caused his rejection.
I agonized over every detail of our encounter. What was it about me that didn’t suit him? How would the next session differ if I couldn’t figure that out?
A tangled string of emotions and thoughts crippled me at times.
I don’t need him. Yes, you do!
He’s crazy! He has the answers.
I’m crazy! No, just curious.
Why go back?
By the sixth night since I’d last seen him, I awoke with the sheets clinging to my wet skin. As much as a part of me never wanted to see him again after he’d rudely dismissed me, a more prominent part couldn’t live with the what-ifs. I wanted — no needed — him to whip me, now more than ever.
~O~
Thursday, February 8
An internal battle still raged over my return, yet I found myself standing on his doorstep again.
He greeted me with a warm smile, wearing the same black belt secured within its loops and a clean, white shirt stretched taut around his biceps and across his shoulders. Was he intentionally trying to unravel me further, showing off his strength? I shivered, thinking about his muscular swing slicing the air with the belt, before hitting its target — me.
A hungry pack of nerves feasted on my stomach as he led me back to his couch. Was he letting me down gently? Would this be the moment he explained why it wouldn’t work? That I wasn’t, somehow, fit for his attention?
He was charming, however. Wrapping me in a kind gaze, he asked how I’d been since our last session. He made me feel like the center of his universe. All of the pain and the agonizing doubts of the previous week vanished from me like frost in the morning sun. I felt special, sophisticated, and appreciated. I said nothing of my torment.
