wanting and waiting

He told me to bend over his bed, chest down. I waited like that while he worked at his computer.

I tried to be patient. To not shift or sigh. To breathe naturally, as if I could do this all night, every night.

I hated waiting and wanting as much as I loved it. I respected it for this.

Finally, he spanked me.

I had to cling to the sheets. I was no good at holding position or at being quiet.

Afterward, my body was warm, my limbs loose with the rush, my head light.

He laughed at me for being in la-la-land and went back to work on his computer.

Saturday night

Any other Saturday night at the club, watching the dancers could lure me into a trance. But not tonight. I was too distracted.

At first I tried not to look at him, taking refuge in my friend instead.

When the night slowed down, he finally sat down next to me and sighed. “You haven’t said hello.”

I leaned in closer. “Hello.”

He slid his hand into my hair, grabbed a fistful near the base of my neck, and guided my head until my upper body was stretched out across his lap.

“Hi, how are you?” He asked my friend, another submissive who nervously responded that he was fine.

I gently bit his arm – I couldn’t help it.

Without a word, he yanked me up and went back to running the room.

I felt like I had taken a hit.

When he returned, he was holding a blindfold. In minutes, my wrists were cuffed and secured to the cross.

The dark eased my mind open.

I plunged fast.

My head emptied of everything except

     the music     always the music
the waiting          waiting for the moments when he would come close
     his voice when he did
          the pressure of him
the absence
                    the warm promise of a hand
     a press
               the sting          and stroke

He thwacked the cross around me – once, twice, more – bringing me back. The sound made me gasp.

Or yelp. Or whimper. I don’t know which. All three.

He slapped my face, drizzled water into my mouth, and untied the blindfold.

I didn’t open my eyes for awhile. When I finally blinked, all of these people were looking at me.

He loved an audience.

My hair was in my face. I tried to force half a smile. I wanted to please him.

It will hurt when he tires of me.

It’s just play it’s just play it’s just play is so hard to remember.

how it happened

How did it all start?

My heart had gotten broken and it made me reckless. As a result, I did many crazy things – one of which was stripping.

At work, I crushed on another stripper who had a psychobilly look: pale skin, red hair, cropped bangs, glasses, boots, dog collar. When she was on stage, she would smack the inside of her thighs so forcefully that a cracking sound would resonate throughout the club, over the music, the conversations.

Whenever she came on stage, I would shush the customers I was sitting with. They were often inspired by my enthusiasm and would give me money so I could leave her tips on stage.

And then I got spanked. My first time. I wasn’t expecting it.

My ex’s friend had asked to photograph me in lingerie for his portfolio. I had known the guy for some time so I wasn’t apprehensive and I agreed.

For the shots, he asked if he could tie my hands and ankles with nylons. No problem – until he took the opportunity to spank me over and over and over. I was scared, it hurt, I cried out.

Eventually, he untied me and apologized. He said he didn’t warn me ahead of time because he had wanted authenticity for his images. As fast as I could, I got out of there. But strangely – I laughed and cried the whole drive home. It was exhilarating.

Back at work, I told one of the regulars what happened because he had shared with me that he was a submissive. Shortly thereafter, he took me to my first club.