Under His Roof (4 page)

“Ouch! Oh! Please!”

My legs are kicking now, just a little, making my bottom dance as I try to shake the pain out of me. He is relentless and I think he may have forgotten I’m a beginner. After what feels like ages he pauses for a moment, planting his hand right back on my behind, reminding me that we aren’t done.

“Comfortable?”

“No!” I exclaim.

“Get up.”

I scramble to my feet, wondering if the hand-spanking portion of the session is over. To my surprise, I think I’m not ready for it to be over. I need more. Why do I need more?!

He is looking up at me, studying me, trying to read me and I feel shy. I gaze at the ground, at our socked feet. Why is it so strange that he is not wearing shoes?

“You took that very well, Rachel,” he says. “I want you to go stand in the corner for a few minutes. We’ll give your bottom a chance to recover.”

I’m sure my face is scarlet and I think he can’t be serious but when I look at his expression, I know he
is
serious and he wants me, an almost thirty year old woman, to stand in a corner.

“Now,” he says, pointing to the corner closest to the window. His voice is firm and strict and I find myself obeying without a second thought.

The corner is lonely. My behind is burning and I pray David isn’t staring at me. I don’t know what he’s doing but he is moving around in the room. Then the door opens and shuts and he’s left me alone.

While every logical part of me says that I can feel free to turn around and face the room like an adult, I have no urge to move. It’s like my body has become a stone sculpture. A temporary sculpture that will last until he comes and sets me free.

I touch my bottom tentatively and feel that it is slightly warm from the spanking. But the stinging has, for the most part, gone away.

Ah, when will he return?
I know he won’t forget about me but it’s strange that I’m not in control of when the session will continue. I realize I need that; I want him to decide how to discipline me, I don’t actually want the control at all.

Though I know I could walk out his door at any time.

He has been gone for too long and I’m bored. I want him to return, to get on with it. Will the paddling be next? More hand spanks?

Finally!
The door opens and shuts. *Click*

“Time to continue. Come here, Rachel,” he says.

I turn and go to him and he sits back down in the chair and yanks me over his lap. I land with an “oomph” and am startled by his forcefulness. What happened to the gentle touch? His hand is back on my behind.

“Now, tell me why you’re being spanked,” he says.

I shift on his lap, uncomfortable and nervous and suddenly scared. “Because I’ve become rude and bitchy,” I choke.

His hand moves up, to the elastic band of my panties, and I moan loudly out of embarrassment.

“No,” I whisper.

“You’ve earned this,” he reminds me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, completely mortified to be bare-assed over David’s lap. He tugs my panties down and leaves them at the top of my thighs, which somehow seems worse than losing them completely.

“I want you to be strong, Rachel. Take your punishment with grace. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” I whimper.

“Good.”

And it begins again, but this time he doesn’t start lightly. He spanks me slowly, each slap firmly stinging my bottom and I squeak and wiggle but try to stay strong. I clamp my legs together tight, not wanting to give him a better view than he already has, and I try not to squirm out of place.

“Oh! Please, David! It hurts!”

He pauses. “Is it supposed to feel good?”

“No,” I moan.

“Then is it supposed to hurt?”

“Yes.” I am fighting tears, willing myself not to cry.

“Do you deserve this?”

“Yes…”
Oh, he is good at this.

“Ask me to continue, then.”

His hand is on my ass and he is waiting. I hate this. He was right, I
am
regretting asking for this. It hurts too much, stings too badly.

And I realize the worst part of all is that it is hurting my soul. I begin to cry.

“Please continue, David,” I sniffle.

He doesn’t respond in words, only in more spanks. I’m crying hard, trying to get myself to calm down, but it is all so much to take. My wiggling has caused my panties to crawl down my legs and I feel them hanging off one of my ankles. I briefly think of how silly I must look but with the weight of the pain and my actions on my shoulders, I stop caring about modesty at all. I let the pain consume me and I can feel it start to heal me. I'm no longer struggling.

The spanking has slowed, but he is still striking me hard. Over and over, again and again. I’m beside myself with emotions that I’ve never felt before and I cannot process what is happening but I just let it happen. I give myself over to this punishment.

When he stops I am totally relaxed, sniffling softly and my sobs have turned into simple and gentle tears. David pulls me up to my feet and I’m wobbly but I steady myself. I know I’m naked from the waist down and I cover my sex with my hands. I can’t look at him, I’m too embarrassed. Does he have other clients who act like such babies? Am I normal or am I an anomaly?

“You did well, Rachel,” he says. His voice is soft. He is back to being gentle. “You just have a little more to go, all right?”

I nod. I’m still too embarrassed to look at him. He takes my hand and leads me over to the enormous desk. It has a few papers on it but I suspect it is rarely used for working. He goes to the other side, opens a drawer, and from it he produces a small wooden paddle. I look at it, then finally bring myself to look at him because I’m afraid.

“Do you have to?” I whisper. I sound small, like a child. I feel like a child—like David is my uncle or some strict adult setting me in line. Putting me in my place.

He nods.

I nod back and take a deep breath. My bottom is on fire but I remind myself that he is a professional. He will not damage me.

He will, however, hurt me.

“Bend over and put your hands on the desk, Rachel,” he says as he moves to stand by my side.

I do as he says. He presses the paddle against the front of my thighs, urging me to move back from the desk so that my body naturally bends farther over. Then he is behind me, and I’m staring straight forward at the wall which has a small painting of a forest and I wonder why he bought that painting. Maybe it was a gift.

The paddle is against my bottom and I tense up, very aware that this will not be pleasant.

“Try to hold your position,” he says. “If you can be good and stay still, you will get ten spanks. Do you understand, Rachel?”

“Yes,” I say quietly. I’m so scared and I have no idea how much this will hurt. Will he be gentle? Will he have mercy on me?

The first crack against my backside fills the room with the ominous sound of wood hitting skin a split second later I feel the most intense pain I've ever felt.

“Ah!” I cry. I jolt upright, clutch my behind, and whirl around to look at my tormentor. “That fucking hurt!”

He raises his eyebrows and clicks his tongue. “We start over, then. Ten spanks left to go.”

“Please, David, it is too much,” I plead.

“No, it’s not.” He sets the paddle down on the desk, takes my shoulders in his hands and forces me to face him. “What did you come here for?”

“Discipline,” I say.

“And what am I giving you?”

“It hurts, David!”

He frowns. “Fifteen, then.”

“David!”

“Do
not
test me, Rachel. Turn yourself back around, bend over, and stay still. Got it?”

God, when he uses his stern voice I’d probably do anything for him. I’m meek and feel silly and I turn back to the desk, bending over obediently.

“Try to stay still,” he reminds me.

“I will,” I promise.

The second stroke of the paddle, and the first one that will count, consumes me. I do not even utter one word, though I do gasp in pain. Miraculously, I stay in position.

Again, he spanks me and I hop up and down but keep my hands in place, making sure to stay bent over.

Again, the pain exploding on my behind.

Again, now the pain spreads, through my body.

Ah! Again! It is filling my chest, my heart.

More! It is consuming me but I can be strong, I can take it!

And I’m crying again but I’m no longer ashamed of my tears. I no longer think I’ll screw up and move my hands. I no longer think that I’ve made a mistake in setting up this session. I’m embracing it, living it, certainly not
enjoying
it but it fills me and is good for me and I’m all right.

I cry through the rest of the paddling but I don’t move or yell or beg him to stop. When he’s finished, he sets the paddle down on the desk and he pulls me to my feet. My knuckles are white from clutching to the desk with all my might.

“Rachel, if you want, I can hug you. But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He is looking at me with concern and I step forward into his chest and he embraces me. “Shh,” he says, “Good girl. You were so strong.”

He holds me until my tears stop flowing. Then he guides me to the bathroom, hands me my yoga pants and my underwear, and says, “Clean up and dress yourself. The creme in the blue container will feel good if you want to rub some on your bottom. I’ll be right here when you come out.”

When I look at myself in the mirror I’m floored. I am a train wreck. My hair is disheveled, my eyes are puffy and red, and my nose is running. I sniffle a little, feeling sorry for myself, and I turn around to see my behind. My entire butt is light pink with long, darker marks from the paddle. I rub it a little and my skin feels hot to the touch. The creme is next to the sink and I tentatively rub a small amount onto my stinging flesh.

It hurts at first but the relief comes quick and I rub more on. I skip putting on my panties, and tuck them into the pocket of my yoga pants. The pants hurt to pull over my behind and I’m thankful I chose them over jeans.

I wipe my eyes some more, splash cool water on my face, and fix my ponytail. I don’t look great but I don’t look so terrible. My mascara hasn't run with my tears—it really is waterproof. My eyes are puffy, though, and I’m ready to cry some more. I fight back the tears because I don't want David to see me cry again.

He’s there when I go back into the discipline room. He’s sitting on the daybed and flashes me his warm smile when I make my appearance.

“Sit,” he says, patting the bed beside him.

I shuffle over to him and sit, wincing as my bottom connects with the mattress.

“Doing OK?” he asks.

“I think so,” I whisper.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking right now, nor do I need to. If you want to talk, you can feel free. But usually, especially with new clients, I leave at this point. I think it would be good for you to lay down right here for at least a half hour. Do you think you can do that?”

I nod. That sounds easy compared to what just happened.

“Good. I’m very impressed with you, Rachel. You took your punishment well.”

“Really?” I ask him hopefully. I thought I’d been quite the weakling cry-baby, actually.

“Yeah. You let yourself go.” He gets up and I’m bewildered but I lie down, on my stomach, and pull a pillow from the side of the daybed for my head.

“I’ll come back in a half hour, but if you’re up and want to leave or talk, I’ll be around. Just call out my name. OK?”

“OK.” I close my eyes and feel it. Peace. Sleep.

~4~

David

When I leave her I go to the kitchen to catch my breath. I get a soda from the refrigerator and walk outside. Sparky wags his tail but doesn’t bother getting up. That’s fine. I go sit down on the grass beside him, happy for his company.

I can’t shake the strange feeling that Rachel is special. The way she responded to her spanking was incredible. She is so new to the concept, but she took to it like a duck to water. Like she’s born to have discipline in her life. And she needs it so badly, I can tell.

I wish I knew her better. I wish I hadn’t pushed her to start so soon. I wish I could be in that room with her, holding her and comforting her. I think she would want it but I can’t forget that this is a professional appointment. I cannot get involved with my clients.

But she’s so different! So receptive. Obedient.

I sigh and Sparky licks my arm.

“Thanks, pup,” I say, patting his head.

The half hour passes slowly. When I check on her, she’s sleeping peacefully and I don’t want to wake her. She looks so calm and right. I kneel by her side and gaze at her. She’s so peaceful. She’s beautiful.

I have to wake her. She is a client and I must treat her like one. I must remain professional.

Even though all I want to do is ask her out. But if I do that, if I cross that line, I risk breaking the trust she has for me right now. And I can’t do that to her. She needs my help, my discipline.

I shake her shoulder lightly. She stirs, but doesn’t wake. I shake her some more and whisper her name. “Rachel. Rachel, wake up.”

“Mmm,” she moans as her eyelids flutter. She is awake. She rubs her eyes, attempts to roll onto her side to greet me, winces, and remains lying on her stomach. I smile at that and she says, “How long have I been asleep?”

“A half hour. Do you want to sleep more?”

“No… no, that’s OK. Thank you. I should get going.” She sits up and whimpers as her punished bottom hits the mattress. I help her to her feet and look at her, concerned.

“You sure you’ll be able to drive?”

“Yes. Of course.” Her hand moves to her backside and rubs it. She is so damned cute I can barely stand it.

“I want you to e-mail me when you get home,” I instruct in my sternest voice as we walk to my front door.

“I’ll do that. I promise.”

“And drive safely.”

“Of course.”

I frown. I wish I could get her to stay but again, I remind myself to be professional. “Do you think your behavior will improve, Rachel?”