Skinnydipping

This morning, I had some time to spare, after you had left for work and I had cleared away the coffee cups and plates.

Once we had that final kiss, me sitting on your lap, you used your thumb to brush over my cheekbone, tuck a straight lock of hair behind my ear and you told me:

‘Behave yourself today, OK?’

Of course I would.

I went for a walk, through the woods to the lake. My favourite spot. It’s so peaceful here.

As I stood at the water’s edge, I stared into the middle. The ripples change shape there. The water changes colour when the bottom can’t be reached.

I don’t remember deciding to do it, but I slipped off my shoes and felt the gravel under my feet, indented by each toe. I let the lake’s gentle tongue wash my bare feet and send a warning Shiver up my thighs.

The initial shock of the cold water was almost pain-like. But it doesn’t mean it didn’t feel good. I waded in, forcing myself to breathe normally as the water lapped my naked thighs, rising around my stomach, then my hardened nipples.

Finally I dipped my head and lifted my feet so there was only water all around me. My ears filled with a heavy silence as I straightened my body and began the familiar glide of my arms breaking the water. It’s a rhythm that comes from nowhere, my body twisting in time, doing what it needs to do, to stay in motion.

I swam like that, silently, out to where I could no longer stand. The middle of the lake, where no bottom exists, where the only way back is to keep swimming. And when I got there, I turned on my back and floated, smiling, knowing that was where I wanted to be. I had made a choice. To be stripped of choice.

And as I floated there, I thought ‘I don’t know why I did this’. I don’t even have a towel. I’ll have to drink dry and walk home in my damp clothes.

But the lake called out to me. I was compelled. My body reached to be submerged, swallowed by something bigger than myself. And not everything I wantmake sense.

When I reached home, I went straight to the shower. I needed to rinse the lake water from my hair and skin.

As I started to gently soap myself, my fingers found their way downwards. I paused and shivered as they brushed over the lightly raised welts that streaked my ass and thighs. I twisted, hoping to see the marks I knew painted my body like dark, angry shadows.

A neat row of stripes, meticulously spaced. Of course. How like you.

I feel a flash of both shade and arousal, the tingling spreading from my sore, marked ass straight to my clip, as I was transported, back to the scene that unfolded just a few paces from this bathroom last night.

How I stood, trembling and naked, my forehead pressed to the wall of our bedroom. My hands claped nervously behind my back and my feet positioned uncomfortable far back, exactly where you had clicked your fingers and pointed.

Fixing me with a cold, disappointed glare, not even giving me your words.

I knew what to do.

And just to make sure I did, you slipped two pads under my arched feet. Connected to our electron-stim device.

‘Why do we even own these?’ I questioned myself silently.

But I knew. For this. You’d bought them without me knowing, and just then, you wanted me to know that you’d thought of every cruel, fiendish detail. That there wouldn’t be any going easy on me.

This was for real.

It had been so long since you’d had to do this. I’d almost forgotten how it feels. The painful humiliation of submitting to my punishment. It’s almost like being outside my body, watching myself nod and agree to my own downfall.

But I knew not to make this any worse. So I said nothing. And I obeyed you to the letter.

And I burned with shame, knowing my *disobedience* had brought me here. Reduced me to this.

Soon, my legs were burning too, as I shifted painfully, forced to choose between the harsh pressure of the wall, supporting my weight onmy forehead, or the torturous ache in my calves.

I don’t know how long I waited there, although I’m sure you did. I’m sure you timed it precisely, knowing what I needed.

The perfect amount of time to reflect.

I didn’t break position as I heard you climbing the stairs and opening the door. But I did feel the hot breath rise in my throat and chest, threatening to let out a sob at the thought of facing you.

I pressed my lips together into a hard line and swallowed. My eyes darted, between yours and the floor.

“Kneel, there”. You told me, pointing to the floor by our bed. “And bend over”.

The instant relief of being allowed to break the position was interrupted by the feeling of my knees on the cold, hard, unforgiving floor. Reminding me that my punishment was just beginning.

I laceled my fingers and pressed my forehead against them. I started to spread and wriggle my toes in fearful anticipation.

Then I remembered. No wriggling. No moving. That’s how this works. And I know better.

That’s why I didn’t look up when you crossed the room, to our closet. I heard it though. And then the dreadful… swishing, of rattan cutting through the air.

Oh…I know why we still own *this*. Even though I said I didn’t want to play with it any more. Exactly for this purpose. Because I hate it.

Because this isn’t playtime.

“Think carefully about why we’re here”, you told me.

I was doing anyway. I was already wrapped with gult.

I inhaled sharply, and the cold air hit the back of my throat with a gulp as I felt you tapping my ass with the cane, lining up the first strike.

So humiliating. My exposed position. Your delegation. Extending my shame and despair.

I braced myself, holding my breath without realising, only to let it out with a fierce hiss as the first stroke landed.

I heard the swish, then the crack, and felt just a sharp buzz for a second.

Then the pain spread, the entire length of the strike lighting up, singing like a thousand cuts.

A line of pure prickly fire.

I blinked in disbelief. I always forget just how much it hurts.

I panted with desperation then, I wasn’t ready to take another but you were already tapping me again.

But I don’t have control any more. And you wanted to remind me of that.

You struck me again and this time, I yelped as it sent a shock wave through my whole body.

The first stripe was still burning fiercely, the pain only building as if my ass had slowly registered the heaviness of the blow, the bruising ache spreading like ink spilled in water.

Maybe if I can just remember this pain, I told myself, I won’t be tempted to end up here again.

With that thought, I screwed my eyes closed. Knowing I only had myself to blow.

I deserved this.

“I’m sorry Sir” I whimpered.

You didn’t react.

The cane landed again and this time my feet flew upwards. I couldn’t help but jerk my body, anything to try and fight against the blaze that was spreading through my flesh, threatening to overwhelm me.

My lungs burned with the urge to shrink. But I didn’t. I let out a pained whimper through my gritted teeth instead.

You paused.

I put my feet back down. I know you hate it when I squirm. And I can’t bear to add to your disappointment by Not doing what’s expected of me.

You struck me again, this time the cane landed right across the top of my thigh.

The sting stopped my breath for a second and two tears ran down my face and dripped down my throat.

I put my head back down and tried to breathe through the layers of pain caused by each new lick.

I was truly sorry now.

I had thought I was before, but I was just panicking, reacting to the pain.

Now all I could feel was remorse, with a weight that was unbearable.

Worse than any physical pain.

I disobeyed you.

I failed in my one, simple part of our deal.

And that’s why I found myself here.

With my face down and my ass exposed, in nervous, shameful supplication.

Because what I did hurt us both. Undermined the trust and respect we place in each other.

And because I want to do better.

Because I need this.

Not just the atonement, but all of it. The rules, the dominance, the balance. The things that are sacred to both of us.

Now all I can do is try and bury my head further in the bed.

But there’s nowhere to go.

I can’t hide from this.

I’m consumed by the pain.

And the awful shade.

The remorse.

Then I did start to cry.

When the cane landed again, it hurt, but my body wasn’t screaming for the pain to stop.

I could endure it.

I was no longer thinking about how many more strokes I had to take.

My body had surrendered and so had my mind.

The pain couldn’t get any worse now.

I wanted you to see what I’m prepared to endure for you.

I wanted to feel the lightness and desirability I feel when I’m your sweet, obedient girl.

Your willing submissive.

All I wanted was to be able to bask in your devotion again, and I felt mine for you spilling from my body as I knelt there, helplessly.

And with that thought, the tears really started to flow.

I was sobbing now.

“Two more” you said. That’s what you always say, when you can see I’ve had enough.

Because the final two show me that you are in control. And that if you choose, I can be pushed just beyond my limits.

Because that’s when the real catharsis happens. When I break for you.

Finally releasing those tears, weeping for you, I felt the real ablution I needed.

I heard You finally place the cane back in the closet.

Then you rubbed the back of my neck, softly. And I shuddered at the gentle touch, knowing that I’d finally earned your kindness.

“You can get up now, if you’re ready”, you said. And I felt your weight depress the bed next to me.

I looked up at you, tenatively, my eyes shining with tears.

Your eyes had soften. It was almost imperceptible, but I could see that everything was fixed between us.

The tension in the room was completely gone, as if it were never there.

I could breathe normally again.

I sat in your lap then, winning with the pain of my seared flesh Touching the rough fabric of your pants. But everything started to feel better, as you wrapped your arms around my trembling, naked frame.

You kissed my forehead and smiled. And I could smile too now, weakly but happy.

You gave no sight of relief, or disappointment, that we had had to do this. It just… was. And now, it’s done.

Now it’s over, there’ll be no blow, and no resentment. I won’t do it again. And we’ll move forward, together, stronger.

We dealt with it. The way we deal with things.

A way that reminds me where I belong – in bondage that is more mental than it could ever be physical.

And I shivered, thinking about that, as the warm water rushed over my naked body.

The way your discipline makes every small act of service, of submission feel… *real*.

I groan, as the streams trickle over my stomach and drip onto the soft folds of my pussy.

My face burns, as I slip a finger inside myself, thinking of how I crave your power over me, the feeling of being owned and distributed to meet your every desire.

And how even though I can hate your punishment as it happens, the fact it can happen fills me with need. The fire you ignored across my flesh keeps me burning for you.

I start to stroke my clip, slowly and then faster, playing with my wetness, then feeling myself give in to the waves of pleasure engulfing me.

I’ve have in the shower too long now. I can’t see through the steam.

I try to imagine if I could. If on the other side of these clouds, there could be an alternative me, an alternativeve life.

What if I could wash away these dark desires, these urges, as easily as I can cleanse my skin? Would I do it?

I don’t know why I want this. But not everything I want make sense.