A female submissive writes about meeting with Saxon after a period of online interaction.
It is Friday morning, 6am, and I am lying on my back, in bed, alone. My hands are flat on my belly with the tips of my fingers resting in the top curls of my pubic hair.
I can’t remember the last time I had an orgasm but it certainly hasn’t been this week; which is quite surprising given the unique circumstances, but then I’ve occasionally suffered from such over stimulation that the technical definition of orgasm has proved impossible. Now of course, you’ve ordered me to pleasure myself and I already know that when you give an order in that tone of voice it has to be followed. I’m not quite sure you believed me when I said I had found our two sessions so overwhelmingly orgasmic that nothing else was necessary, but it’s true.
And so, as my fingers drift south, I search for the memory of how this whole thing began.
We’ve had an adhoc online conversation for over a year now, dipping in and out with longish gaps. The serious flirtation started sometime around the New Year. You seem to be under the impression you weren’t flirting, but you bloody well were! I made the proposition though, so you are innocent to an extent (hah – a less innocent man it would be hard to find!).
You were charm personified, but then throughout this whole period you’ve known exactly how to handle me, haven’t you? You called me to discuss my proposition of a one off play session in a hotel in London, where I was spending two nights on a training course. Like me you were also in the middle of a drought. The rapport was instant and now I smile to myself thinking of that old saying “You had me at ‘hello’”, well you had me at “You’re very easy to talk to.” So unused was I to anyone saying anything nice to me that my heart gave a little flip there and then. You don’t know it, but I was yours at that point, there was no doubt in my mind.
The only problem was, my trip to London from Glasgow was two months away, so how did we conduct ourselves for the intervening eight weeks?
Well you know the answer to that, don’t you? What did you call it? Oh yes, ‘distance learning’. I rather cheekily told you that I’d checked the Open University prospectus and BDSM wasn’t listed as an academic subject. You laughed and told me I’d be punished for that remark. My thighs closed together tightly.
They are quite slack now though and my index finger is dipping towards my clitoris and circling it slowly. I’m drenched just thinking about you.
My thoughts return to the first time you disciplined me remotely. We hadn’t discussed it in advance, I hadn’t given you permission but I doubt you felt you needed it. My technique has always been a little ladylike impertinence and you seemed to find that amusing until I overstepped the mark. You’d never been to Scotland and wanted to know if we could get the BBC, I told you we could, but only in black and white. Me, being me of course, I had to gild the lily by adding, ‘and only when the wind is in the right direction.’ That’s when you realised I was taking the piss out of you. And that was my first experience of your voice changing. In that one instant my whole world shifted.
“Do you own a hairbrush Cherie?”
“Yes.” I replied, knowing exactly where this was leading and already regretting my cheek.
My breath was shallow at the end of the line, and for the first time I addressed you as ‘Sir’.
“Describe your hairbrush?”
Luckily (do I really mean ‘luckily’?) it was the sort of large flat backed wooden brush, almost specifically designed for use on a naughty girl’s backside.
You made me go and fetch it from the bathroom, lie on my side on the bed and apply it to myself. Your instructions were very clear as to number and severity and what would happen if you weren’t satisfied with the smacks you could hear. Of course I was a willing participant, except I wasn’t! I had no choice; your use of language, your tone, using my first name (no one ever does that!) made me obedient to you from the off. I had never experienced anything like it. The physical effect on me was profound, I was dripping wet and completely compliant, it never once crossed my mind not to obey or to try and fake the smacks.
When you were appeased you warned me what would happen the next time I ‘yanked your chain’. I was also instructed to purchase a larger, sturdier hairbrush.
The next morning I arrived in work to the most beguiling email from you. Just the right tone, complimentary (I’m not used to compliments), promising more and reassuring all at the same time. I was hooked and incredibly frustrated at how long it was going to be before we would meet.
My finger is still circling and stroking my clitoris. My body is beginning to arch under its ministrations.
Our conversations became more frequent until we were speaking for at least an hour a night. It wasn’t all remote discipline, we got to know each other well. We had a laugh, and each time you did discipline me, while I was applying the strokes myself, it was always subject to your will; you made that very clear. When I wanted to be disciplined I quickly knew to send you a cheeky email, teasing you and provoking you to action.
The night you had me on all fours, having whacked myself dozens of times on each cheek, and you demanded that I repeat each stroke you couldn’t hear properly, was truly delicious, even though I was bruised the next day. You sent me an email to make sure I wasn’t sitting comfortably.
I now have several fingers inside myself, the soles of my feet are pressed together and I continue to gently stimulate myself at your command.
We were both torn between wanting to discuss what we would get up to when we eventually met, and destroying the spontaneity of the encounter.
I think you tuned in quite quickly to my feelings of insecurity and inadequacy. You found that surprising, didn’t you? I have a veneer of confidence in everyday life, but then in the normal course of events I don’t meet strangers in hotel rooms and allow them to spank and cane me. And that’s what you were going to do. I think the only time you were truly impatient with me was when, for the third or fourth time, I told you it would be okay for you to back out on the night if you didn’t like what you saw. Your silence told me I’d made a mistake. Then you told me in no uncertain terms that you weren’t that shallow and you really would spank me very hard indeed if I mentioned it again. I promised you I’d shut up about it.
As the weeks passed I began to look forward to your phone calls and they quickly became an integral part of my life. Initially we agreed, you’d travel to London on the first night only, this quickly turned into you staying the night. I didn’t dare broach whether you’d return on the second night, I didn’t have the confidence that you’d even stay past the initial meeting in the hotel bar! Not that I dared to mention it. It would be true to tell you that I was veering wildly between all encompassing excitement and fear that you’d turn on your heel and leave as soon as you met me. You see, those feelings of inadequacy run very deep and they’re still there.
As the appointed day approached I began to regret my boldness in sending you that initial email. But you were lovely, after all you had a lot of experience at calming down silly subs and by this stage the slightest change in the intonation of your voice could have me instantly submissive and compliant to your orders.
The plan was that I’d arrive at the hotel well before you, have time to shower and dress according to your instructions and then wait for you to arrive in the bar. We would both do our instinctive check, run over the safe word and then if I wanted to proceed I’d ask you to go and fetch your bags from the car.
Oh the best laid plans of mice and men! Of course Flybe did their usual thing and my flight was delayed by over two hours. You offered to come out to Heathrow and pick me up, I agreed with alacrity. When we’d made these arrangements I immediately threw a wobbler inside my own head. I wanted to meet you when I’d had time to prepare, I was currently wearing jeans, trainers and an effing sports bra. All my ‘proper’ clothes were inside my hold luggage, I hadn’t straightened my hair or even brushed my teeth.
‘Oh well’ I thought ‘At least he’s going to see me, warts and all’.
You’d told me that your public demeanour would be ’cordial’ so when you hugged me in the arrivals hall I was relieved beyond belief.
I couldn’t say I was relaxed in the car on the way into the city, twisting my hands in my lap, I couldn’t unbend. You were concentrating on unfamiliar roads but even so you found room to ask what you could do to help me calm down. I think my crass reply of ‘Absolutely nothing’ didn’t help much!
The conversation that had flowed so freely for eight weeks had dried up. I could only think of banal comments and was determined I was not going to mention the weather. I didn’t seem able to unclasp my hands.
You parked the car, I checked in and then we were in the bar facing each other over a drink. I had to calm down or this wasn’t going to work. You were all gentle concern, asking soothing questions and eventually I began to become more at peace.
As I reached the end of my drink you took charge, “You’ll want time to get ready?”
I nodded and you smiled, “Well, I’ll get another drink and then come up and join you. That’s okay isn’t it Cherie?” For the first time you gave me the look and I knew the appropriate response,
You inclined your head towards me, “Off you go then.”
My legs were not entirely steady as I left the bar, I wondered if you were watching my disappearing backside and pondering what you’d be doing to it very soon indeed.
I knew I didn’t have long, no time for a shower, I plugged my hair straighteners in, flung my clothes out of my bag onto the bed, stripped and began to dress again as quickly as possible. Your instructions had been precise and I knew I had to get this right. I wouldn’t be getting a second chance.
I had just about finished to some degree of satisfaction when you knocked on the door. I opened it, an overwhelming feeling of shyness descending on me.
You didn’t take your eyes off me, only adding to my reticence. Placing your hands on my shoulders you forced me to look at you even though you hadn’t said a word. You seemed to be drinking me in, deliberately wrong footing me by remaining silent.
Eventually you broke contact and said, “Let’s see if you’ve fulfilled your brief then.” and you circled round me, looking at me from every angle. I was so shy by this stage I couldn’t even lift my head and stood bashfully, gazing at my shoes. My insides were contracting and spasming outside of my control and I could feel a slight tremor run through my body.
You moved towards the only chair in the room and positioned it in the centre.
“You know why I’m here Cherie.” You began, “We need to address your behaviour, don’t we?”
I glanced at you timidly and gave my head the slightest nod. You sat down and began quite deliberately to roll up the sleeve of your shirt.
“In a moment Cherie, I’m going to spank you, so you will place yourself over my knee, won’t you?”
Again, I gave you a confirmatory nod.
You nodded back, “Good girl.” I melted inside.
When you were ready, you didn’t speak – just gestured that I was to assume the position. Gauchely I did so. You weren’t happy, pushing and pulling my legs until you were content with their position. Still you weren’t satisfied.
“I want to feel your weight Cherie, I am not a bridge, relax please.”
I bit my bottom lip so hard I nearly broke the skin, but I did as you instructed.
One of my hands is now pulling my pubis tight to allow the other more direct contact with my sex. I can feel the very beginning of a real orgasm form somewhere very deep inside me, but it will be a while yet, I’m a slow burner.
I was used to hard slaps beginning to fall immediately but that wasn’t your style at all. You spent a considerable, well it felt considerable, amount of time rubbing me through my skirt. You weren’t happy.
“I see you think wearing a thick skirt is going to save you Cherie, but it isn’t.” You pushed it up, revealing my hold ups and frilled knickers, I heard your intake of breath and sighed, at least I’d got that right!
You ran as assessing hand over the frillies and then gentle pats began. This was so unusual for me that I wasn’t sure what to do or think so I remained perfectly still. You were judging things carefully and soon more insistent smacks began to fall, I shifted my weight the little I could. You racked up the intensity slowly, almost imperceptibly. I realised a full fledged spanking was happening when an involuntary yelp escaped me. But there was no squriming allowed with you, you just pulled me tighter and held me firmly. There is a great feeling of security in being spanked like that, but then I suppose you know that very well, being the connoseiur you are.
Finally you stopped, “Up you get.” I scrambled clumsily to my feet and stood shamefaced before you. But you hadn’t finished humiliating me yet. You looked expectantly at your knee, I was confused, did you want me over again so soon? You took my arm and pulled me towards you, still not saying anything. And then you pulled me down to sit on your knee. This was new too and I blushed deeply, I’d never sat on a man’s knee before. Again I tried not to rest my weight and again you weren’t letting me away with it. Pulling me down and closer until I had no choice. I swallowed hard and resigned myself to the embarrassment. Our faces were very close and I could feel you watching me intently. Eventually I glanced at you and you smiled. This did everything to make me relax. Instinctively I nuzzled in close and you kissed me for the first time. My submission was complete, I was so rarely kissed voluntarily that I’d have done anything for you. You took your time and stroked and consoled me.
I was kissing you deeply in return when you said, “Okay Cherie, you know the next stage of this process.” Gently you pushed me off and guided me towards the wall.
“You know the drill Cherie, nose and toes against the wall, nose and toes!” You placed my hands on the top of my head. I was whimpering in distress and shaking slightly but I received a reassuring ‘good girl’ and calmed down a little. As you backed off to watch me, I trembled where I stood. You were soon back, running your hands over my body which responded outside of my control. For the first time you cupped my breasts and squeezed firmly, my knees gave way a bit.
“I hope you didn’t choose this cardigan because all these buttons would give me quite so much work Cherie?” You asked as you began to unbutton them. I shook my head, I genuinely hadn’t! I heard a sceptical noise escape you. You removed the cardie and then unzipped my skirt. Tutting you said “Another button?” as you realised the skirt would not come down via zip alone!
You were obviously an expert at taking a girl’s bra off while she was still wearing her top and so that support was also removed from me. I was facing the wall in my high heels, hold ups, frillies and blouse. You pulled my knickers up one side at a time. I think you were checking for pinkness.
“Now you realise I’m going to have to spank you again? And this time it will be on your bare bottom, don’t you?”
“Yes, Sir.” It’s really a squeak, my throat is no longer working properly.
I hear you seat yourself again. “When you are ready Cherie, you will come here and place yourself over my knee again.” Everything inside me pulls up and contracts, your words are so powerful to me I can hardly bear it.
I take a deep breath and turn towards you, my hands still on my head. I stand meekly before you.
“Tell me why you’re about to be spanked again Cherie?”
Steeling myself I say in a very quiet voice “I’ve been disrespectful, provocative and disobedient, Sir.”
“That’s right, you have, so over you go.”
For the second time I place myself over your knee and again you take your time making sure I’m in a position that satisfies you.
This time there is no pleasant preamble, the slaps fall thick and fast on my knickers and I’m wriggling the wee bit possible. You stop and begin to edge my knickers down. I brace myself and lift slightly off your lap to ease the way. You push my knickers to mid-thigh and begin to spank me again. I’m whimpering by this time, trying to control myself. I feel my paranoia keenly, I’m worried you are appalled at how I look and are only carrying on because you’re already committed to the job. I can feel my nose begin to run. You push my knickers right down and tell me to kick them off. I obey you instantly. The spanking continues and I’m still facing the carpet, utterly humiliated and burning with embarrassment.
At last, at long last, you stop spanking and run you hand, almost lovingly (or is that my imagination?) over my backside. I lie compliantly until you order me to my feet. This time I know what to do and when you signal, I sit on your knee. Again you hold and console me, soothing my shaking body. Then you lead me to the bed and let me lie in your arms. I am quite close to tears. I bury my head in your chest so you won’t see. Finally I’ve composed myself, you seem quite content to wait for me.
“Food?” I ask, you smile and nod. I had agreed to bring a picnic tea we could have in the room. I try to act normally as I butter the bread and scones but I can feel you watching me and it makes me nervous and shy. As I bring the food to the bed for you I note the quizzical expression on your face, I’m immediately paranoid, have I done something wrong? But you seem to enjoy the food and finally we’re relaxed and lying together, seemingly quite happy. We chat as if we’ve known each other our whole lives. Time is marching on though and we haven’t accomplished a fraction of the things we’ve discussed.
Suddenly your manner changes, provoking the instant submissive response in me, “It’s now my unfortunate duty to make your bottom smart even more, my girl.”
I look at you shyly.
You tut, “Really, I don’t know how you’ve got away with it for so long. Take this off.” And you begin hauling my blouse over my head. “And those!” You point to my hold ups. When I am naked, you order me onto all fours on the bed.
Retrieving something from your bag you place it before me and say, “You can think about this and how it is going to feel very soon.”
Lying on the bed is a thick, whip like, leather cord. It looks like it will be vicious.
You use the bathroom and then return, slithering the corded whip away from me.
“Are you ready, Cherie?”
The first blow lands, it’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be. But you’re just getting the measure of my reactions and the second is a little firmer. Again I don’t react and you want a reaction. You begin to beat me quite methodically with it, harder and stronger with each blow. Soon I’m panting, my fingers bunching the quilt, my head going down towards the mattress. But you want noise, you want to know I’m really feeling it and you don’t stop until I’m yelping in pain. Only when you’re convinced I’ve been beaten enough do you stop. Then your hands are all over me and my back hollows in response to you, my head coming up.
For the first time you test for another reaction in me and I think even you are surprised at just how wet I am.
“Bad girl.” You chide, “You know I’ll have to punish you for this Cherie?”
I think I give a coherent response but I’m not sure.
“Let’s have a bath.” You announce and grateful to be released from my punishment I willingly agree.
As my well striped bottom sank into the hot water I winced and you grinned. I took the sponge and washed as much of you as I had access to. Again the conversation flowed very easily.
“You will be caned now Cherie, how are you usually caned?” You are so matter of fact and it rather takes my breath away.
“Over the back of a dining table chair, Sir.”
“Hmm…” you clamber out of the bath, “I think that chair is too high.”
I leave the water in your wake, wrap a towel around myself and follow you into the bedroom. You’ve placed the chair at the foot of the bed and placed the pillows on it.
“Can you kneel there please Cherie? No, knees further back, lean right over with your hands on the bed.” You discard the towel.
It doesn’t even cross my mind to object. Your caning is very different. I’m used to swift, hard strokes with little if any time to recover between blows; and lots of them. You have another approach.
You take your time. There is stroking in advance, careful measuring, deliberately placed application, and controlled severity. I think I received about a dozen, each most effective and again by the time you’d finished I was suppressing my howls of distress. You allow me to get up and take me in your arms, permitting me to kiss you. At this moment I never want to stop kissing you, I want to stand here in your comforting embrace forever. You caress my backside, adding to the delicious pain I’m experiencing.
“Bed.” A simple command.
As we’re drifting off to sleep I ask if you are coming back the next night.
“Of course I am,” you reply, “I forgot to get your little toy, I can do that tomorrow; so don’t think you’re escaping that treat, it was your request after all.”
I shiver in delicious anticipation.
How is it so easy to fall asleep in the arms of someone you’ve just met?
Right now, sleep is very far away, but my orgasm is gathering, the very memory of you, stimulating me completely.
I might as well not have attended that training course – my ability to concentrate was negligible. All I could think about was what you were going to do to me that night. I had to plead a family crisis and a wait for a phone call to get out of dinner. I was able to grab us some food to eat in the room and this time we got that out of the way first. We lay on the bed and chatted for quite a while – almost like an old married couple, I thought.
Finally you say, “So Madam, I rather thought last night would suffice for your punishment, but it seems not. Here I am, about to have to spank you again.”
I’m trembling as I put myself over your knee, tonight I’m less nervous and able to better appreciate your technique. Which really is near to perfect. This time when you release my smarting rump, you settle yourself on the end of the bed and have me lie over one knee, facing onto the bed and with my legs spread very wide behind me on the floor. My pubis is directly on your thigh.
I hear you unwrap the package you’ve brought with you and I know what is coming. Involuntarily, although I really want this, my body betrays me and fights you. You can’t get the plug into my anus in this position, although you try very expertly. But you are not to be outdone.
“Right Madam, up and on your knees on the bed.” You push my knees apart, spreading me wide and pushing my face down into the quilt. This time you achieve your goal and for the first time in my life I am securely plugged. You tease me, vibrating it inside me whilst playing with my clitoris at the same time. The sensations are almost too much and I very nearly beg you to stop. You begin to spank me with the plug in place, firm and insistent. You are totally in control and the deep melting of submission holds me in thrall to you.
You make me stand ‘nose and toes’ again, with the plug in place. I doubt the noises emanating from me are making any sense but you appear to be interpreting them well enough. You take your time and seem to be enjoying my discomfort immensely. When you finally remove the plug, I cry out in ecstacy and agony. You order me into bed.
I lie there in some sort of haze, my entire body is shaking. You allow me to lie on my front and you hold me until the shaking begins to subside a little. I bury my face in your armpit and you laugh.
“Coming down yet?” you ask.
“A wee bit.” I reply and you chuckle at my Scots venacular.
I turn to face you and begin to kiss you.
“Are you going to be a good girl now?”
I pause, you’re used to my pauses.
Eventually I say, “I will try to be a good girl.”
“Oh, you don’t really think you’re going to get away with that, my girl?”
I press my lips together and shrug my shoulders.
“But you won’t be able to do anything about it if you’re not there, will you?” I say, a little provocatively.
You smile at me. A discussion ensues about the practicality of us meeting again. I adore the expression you use “We can frame this and hang it on the wall as a lovely memory.” It almost brings tears to my eyes.
My orgasm explodes at last, shaking my body and leaving me limp and exhausted, I smile to myself, it only took me 48 hours after I last saw you!
We part the next morning as the best of friends.
So it only remains to tell you how I feel now. You know my love of quotations and Cara Dillon said it best in ‘The Parting Glass’:
A man may drink and not be drunk,
A man may fight and not be slain,
A man may court a pretty girl
and perhaps be welcomed back again.
Thank you, Sir.
Mar sin leibh an drasda (A wee bit of the Scots Gaelic for you, English man)