She’d paused at numerous shops along the way; stopped at the bank; distracted me with every possible diversion. For: “when we get back, I am going to tawse your hands”.
Got into the hotel lift; pressed the button for our 19th-floor room. Smiled as she nervously noted: “If I press all the other floors, it will take longer.”
Longer til the one form of punishment she dreaded above all others. This brave girl, already so sore from the cane, the slipper, the strap the night before.
She was in tears before it started, her hands trembling. Scarcely able to meet my eyes. Crying louder after the first stroke; tears flowing after the second. Huddling against my chest, into my arms, after the sixth.
—
She later confessed on Twitter that it hadn’t been as bad as she had feared. We dealt with that misapprehension the following morning. Along with other matters, of course…
When you’ve known someone as long as I’ve known Olivia, yet never played as that didn’t fit with her then-relationship; when that near-electric kinky attraction can finally cross the line into reality; when 48 hours pass such more quickly than any two days have the right to do. That is when – for all the emails swapping not-actually-real hugs – you drop like a stone on the way home, and worry more than anything about the girl you left behind at the station doing the same.
Such a beautiful post!
I am so happy you two finally got to play. I am certain it was magical 48hours. It had to be.
Thank you, Alias – it was very wonderful!
Ahh, this still makes me smile. Just perfect. Xx