Kinky

I open my eyes and slice the cane through the air. Its sinister whistle makes me cringe, but I keep it moving until it makes contact with Dimitri’s bottom, which quivers. His hips roll and he gasps, but there is no cry.

At first, the line I have drawn is white, then it begins to darken rapidly while Dimitri pitches back and forth on the balls of his feet. He reaches behind to touch the welt, running a fascinated fingertip along its length.

Appalled at myself, I drop the cane back on the desk. ‘Oh God, that must have really hurt. I’m so sorry.’

He lets go of the desk and turns back round, hitching up his jeans with one hand while the other continues to rub his bottom.

‘Well, yes, it hurt,’ he confirms.

There isn’t a sniff of an erection. Seems he’s no switch either.

‘You didn’t enjoy it?’

‘No, I don’t like pain. Not my thing. But now I know what it feels like, so I thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’ I put a hand on his cheek and stroke it. ‘I didn’t enjoy it either. Well, maybe a little bit.’ I smirk, feeling like a super-villainess in a latex catsuit.

‘It’s OK,’ he whispers, bending to my ear. ‘I am getting my revenge. It’s your turn now.’

I flutter. ‘Oh dear.’

‘Mmm, oh dear, my dear.’ His hand cups my buttocks, a menacing gesture if I ever I felt one. ‘You are wearing no panties!’

‘Oh. So I’m not. I knew I’d forgotten something.’

He chuckles darkly and kisses the underside of my ear. ‘Bad mistake.’

I falter for a moment. ‘Dimitri?’

‘Umm hmm?’ His fingertips bunch the skirt of my dress, rubbing it up and down my naked bottom.

‘Why do you want to hurt me? Why do you like it?’

‘Hey.’ He draws back his neck, finding my eyes with his. ‘Because you want me to. Is no other reason. Because I want to make you hot. Turn you on, you say, no?’

‘Yeah. You want to turn me on. OK. Just asking.’

I can see why people would want to be dominated, I just have some trouble getting why others want to dominate. It’s hard not to question the impulse or suspect that there might be an agenda of hatred or abuse behind it sometimes.

What if it turns out that Dimitri hates women, or British people, or is just working out and passing on some horrible experiences from his past? I think that might break my heart. I know I barely know him but …

Anyway, I believe him. There’s a transparency and a zest about him that make it easy to accept that he is simply enjoying himself, and living for the moment. As to whether he wants to pleasure me or simply pleasure a Random Submissive Woman, the jury’s out. I hope it doesn’t stay out for long though.

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nbsp; ‘Good. So bend over.’

The time for angst has passed.

Dimitri takes me by the upper arm and leads me to a chair – maybe the one that Trixie Twinkle Twat was standing on that time – then places a hand on my stomach, gently pivoting me into the prescribed contortion until I am bending over, palms flat on the seat, bum up, legs hip width apart.

The hem of my dress flutters reassuringly around my thighs, but not for long, because Dimitri’s next act is to lift it up, revealing my helpless bare bottom to his disciplinary gaze.

Damn it, I’m wet already. Can he tell?

‘Bad girl,’ he says, grazing my inner thighs with his fingernails, almost up to the split lips of my crotch. Oh, he can tell. ‘What shall I do with you?’

‘I don’t know,’ I whisper. ‘Sir.’ The addition feels natural, and he seems to like it, making a low sound of approval.