Authors: Sadey Quinn
~3~
Rachel
David, true to his word, sent me a list of references, directions to his home, and his cell phone number. I print everything out immediately. He does live a ways out of town and, taking a quick look at a map, I see my office is directly in between my apartment and his home. I wonder if I should give Samantha a call and let her know where I’ll be, just in case I turn up missing and someone has to come find my body.
But I know I can’t call her. As much as she dislikes me at the moment, there’s no way she’d let me go to some stranger’s house to be punished.
I laugh to myself, because in spite of the fact that tomorrow will be difficult, it is fairly ridiculous I’m doing it at all. I open up the references and call one of the numbers. Gretta.
She answers on the first ring.
“Hi, um, Gretta?”
“Yes, speaking.”
“Hi. Yeah. My name is Rachel. I’m calling because… because…” I can’t get the words out and decide on something easier, hoping she’ll get the drift and take over. “I’m calling because we have a mutual acquaintance whom I’d like to know more about. David Jacobs.”
“Oh! Yes, of course. Are you going to have a session with him?” she asks, with a cheerful southern accent.
“Tomorrow.”
“Well, he’s safe as can be, sweetie. You don’t have to worry about that. Worry about the session itself, but don’t worry about being in danger.”
I swallow hard. “And, the session…”
She laughs. “You get what you ask for.”
I don’t respond.
“Listen, sweetie,” she says, her voice soft like she’s trying to be comforting, “by this time tomorrow you’ll feel incredible. Trust me. David’s got a way of making things right. I see him once a month.”
“Really?”
“Really. I’m a regular.”
A regular. Wow. “Well, Gretta, thanks. You’ve put me at ease about my safety.”
“You’re quite welcome. Enjoy. And feel free to call again if you’re confused or anything afterward. I’m happy to chat.”
After hanging up with the friendly Gretta I decide to try to sleep, and this decision proves disastrous. I’m tossing and turning and cannot get my upcoming ‘session’ out of my head. I make some tea and try to read until I feel my eyelids get heavy.
When I wake up my reading light is on, my book is on my chest and my upper body is slouched on the pillows. It’s light outside. I’ve slept through the night, but my body is all kinked up from falling asleep sitting up.
This, I decide, is the perfect excuse for a massage.
Pedro, my normal masseur, is available at two, so I spend the morning anticipating that appointment rather than the one at four o’clock. I check my e-mail to see if David has written anything else but he hasn’t. A long, hot bath soothes me, and I shave my legs for the sake of both my masseur and David.
When Pedro arrives, he sets up his table and I sit to the side in my bathrobe, watching him. Pedro is an incredibly sexy Argentinian who became my favorite masseur for both his intense touch and his good looks. This, I realize, is wrong in some ways but I don’t think Pedro minds at all. I once asked the receptionist at the massage parlor about his popularity among their clients and she said, “You’ve no idea. He could work twenty four hours a day if he wanted to. I bet he makes more than
you
.”
That wouldn’t surprise me, considering what I dole out for an hour long massage. But I happily relax on the table when he tells me to, and I get lost in his touch and forget about the world and my upcoming punishment.
The hour goes way too fast. Pedro turns around while I put my robe on and then I scribble him a check. It’s three fifteen. I will have to leave almost immediately.
I’ve already chosen my outfit. Because I’m not sure how sore I’ll be afterward, I’m wearing yoga pants over simple cotton panties. For a top, a modest t-shirt and comfortable sports bra. I look like I’m headed to the gym.
The directions David provided are excellent, and soon I’m driving along the country, hilly road toward his house. It occurs to me that he could live so far out of town because of his strange vocation. What would a neighbor say if they heard him spanking me?
I find his house easily and pull into his driveway, parking next to what's presumably David's black Toyota pick-up truck. I take a moment to assess the location. The house is gorgeous. It’s two stories with amazing lattice work on the windows and a small gazebo to the side. His lawn is well manicured, with nice landscaping and a vegetable garden. A large apple tree stands right in the middle of the yard, and a golden retriever is lounging in its shade, barely lifting his head to peer at my car.
It all seems very ordinary. I take a deep breath, then another. Then another. Somehow I cannot get myself to open my car door. I see his front door swing open and there he is, in jeans and a white t-shirt, and he waves at me.
“C’mon in, Rachel,” he calls.
I sigh and tell myself to stop being a wuss. My legs are shaking but I manage to walk up the path to his front door, where he’s still standing, smiling at me.
“Take off your shoes, please,” he says as he steps aside to let me inside.
I look down and see he’s wearing white socks, no shoes. I kick off my sneakers and follow him meekly into his home.
“Want a glass of juice?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say, thinking,
with a few shots of vodka.
I haven’t had juice, except in the form of a mixer, for years.
He hands me a cool glass of orange juice and I sip it and it feels… wholesome. “Let’s have a seat in the dining room. We can discuss things there before we move on.”
Following him, I take a seat at the modest wooden table. Everything about David’s home is so regular and I find it oddly comforting. He's just a normal guy.
Who happens to make a living spanking women.
Deep breaths, Rachel.
He sits adjacent to me and he has a manila file folder that has my name on it.
“So you’re here today for discipline,” he says.
I look down and my face is burning. There is a lump in my throat and I cannot speak.
“You didn’t give me a lot of information regarding severity. I’d venture to guess that you haven’t been spanked before?”
I shake my head.
“I’m planning to take this session slow. Like I said last night, the first time is often a bit experimental. We’ll find out what works. One thing you should know, however, is that my clients usually, at some point during their session, regret asking for discipline.”
I look at him in disbelief. Shouldn’t he have warned me about this last night?!
“You won’t regret it
afterward
,” he continues. “Just during. If you didn’t, this wouldn’t work.”
“Oh,” I whisper, shifting uncomfortably.
“Tell me why you’re here, Rachel,” he says softly.
I fidget. I don't know what to say. “I’m… I’ve become… rude. To people. To my friends.”
“Who besides your friends are you rude to?”
I shrug.
Just about everyone
, is what I’m thinking. “I don’t know… my staff… my family…”
David is raising his eyebrows. Not in a judgmental way, but in a ‘you’re about to get what’s coming to you’ way. “Do you think it helps your staff when you are rude to them?”
I shake my head. “It’s just… they often don’t do things correctly.”
“Do you do everything correctly?”
“Yes. For the most part.”
He chuckles. “Of course. Tell me about your friends.”
I am very uncomfortable and feel like I’m at a therapy session. Which I suppose, in some strange ways, I am. “I’ve been distant. Distracted. Work keeps me busy.”
“So you would like to reconnect with them?”
“Yeah, I guess. But…”
“They might not want to reconnect with you,” he says, finishing my sentence.
I’m feeling sad now, not anxious, and I look at him mournfully. “I don’t know.”
“Well, Rachel, I think you deserve exactly what you’re asking for.”
The anxiety returns in a flash.
“Now, let’s discuss logistics. I have a room reserved for discipline sessions. The entire session will be conducted in that room. There is an adjoining bathroom if you need it. There is also a bed—reserved entirely for sleeping. Nothing about this will be sexual. Is that clear?”
“Of course.” I know he’s stating the obvious, but I’m glad he said it out loud.
“Good. Today you’ll get a hand spanking, which will take up most of the session. Spanking you with my hand will help me really understand how much you can take. We will conclude with a short paddling. Clear?”
I feel dizzy with fear. Then I remember—this is
my
session. I get a choice. “I’d rather not be paddled,” I say, trying to make my voice sound strong and firm. In reality though, my voice cracks, and I sound like a scared little girl.
David sighs, like he’s disappointed in me. He leans forward, close to me, his eyes stern. He takes my hands in his and holds them for a moment, squeezing them gently. “I want to paddle you today. It will hurt, but you deserve it. Will you allow me that?”
I deserve it.
I know he’s right. His hands feel rough, like he works outdoors, and I imagine them on my behind and my body tenses at the thought. “OK,” I whisper.
He stands up, pulling me up with him. “Follow me.”
I stare at my feet shuffling along the wooden floors as I walk. We go back through the kitchen, down a short hall, to the last room on the left. David puts his hand on the small of my back, gently guiding me into the room, and I’m glad he is forward with me because without that little push I think I would have been stuck at the door.
The small *click* of the door closing behind us makes me shudder. David closed the door to the normal world. I have entered his domain.
I force my eyes up and take in the room. It’s large, and I assume it was intended to be the master bedroom of his home. I see an open door to the bathroom on my left, and next to the door is a large wooden cabinet. There is a twin bed on the far wall, made up like a daybed to be used as a couch or for sleeping. Above the bed, a large window with transparent curtains lets the afternoon light into the room. A dark, wooden desk takes up a big portion of the right side of the room, and a few strange pieces of furniture that I do not recognize and do not care to know about are lined up against the wall.
I look to David for guidance and he’s just watching me take things in. He smiles at me, and I know he’s trying to ease my mind but I'm too worked up. The only way to feel less anxious is to get on with the show.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Ready,” I whisper.
“Take off your pants, please. You can leave your panties on for now.”
My hands are shaking as I hook my thumbs into the elastic band of my yoga pants. I slide them down over my hips, to my ankles, and kick them to the side.
David is not watching me and I’m grateful for that. He is busy positioning a large, straight-backed chair in the center of the room. Then he turns to me, smiles again, and comes to my side. He’s looking down at me and I’m so small and vulnerable next to him. I can barely hold back my tears. “Time to face the music, Rachel,” he says. He takes my hand and leads me to the chair. When he sits and pats his lap, I look at him like he’s crazy.
“C’mon, sweetie.” He is giving me a caring smile which I know is supposed to put me at ease but it’s impossible. I’m frozen. He grabs hold of my upper arm and gently tugs me until I’m falling, awkwardly, over his knees. “There you are.”
His hand is on my bottom and I’m tense. I place my own hands flat on the wooden floor and shift my body a little until I feel like I’m in the right place. He chuckles, lifts my hips, and shifts me until my butt is high in the air.
“Remember that this is for your own good,” he says.
Is he going to start so soon?! I start to panic but he’s holding me firmly in place.
“Rachel, calm yourself down
right now.
”
I try my best and I can tell he’s giving me time. His hand is still on my behind, waiting patiently.
“Try unclenching your butt cheeks,” he suggests nonchalantly.
What?!
I think to myself. I cannot believe David Jacobs, Professional Disciplinarian, has just suggested that I unclench my ass. But I remind myself that this is his thing, this is what he’s good at, and I relax my muscles.
Then his hand is gone for a moment, and the first slap lands on my bottom.
“Oh!” I gasp, though it does not hurt in the slightest.
“See? You’re OK. We’re going slow.”
So I relax. The sensation of being lightly spanked is actually oddly nice. I suspect that he is just making me comfortable before moving on to the second act of the afternoon, and I try to stay in the moment and enjoy the feeling. But then I scold myself. David is a professional. It wouldn’t be fair to him to be turned on by this. Still, I can’t help the tingling sensation that is building inside me.
He pauses for a moment. “You’re relaxed now. Feeling all right?”
“Yeah,” I whisper.
“Good.”
Then it begins again, and he’s slapping a little harder now, stinging my bottom with each spank. It still is not horribly painful but it is beginning to hurt and I wiggle a little as I adjust to the sensations.
He spanks slowly, but steadily, alternating between each cheek so I know just what is coming next. And he is increasing the intensity a bit at a time, barely enough for me to realize what he is doing. I’m starting to appreciate that this guy really is a professional.
“Ouch!” I gasp after one stinging spank.
He tightens his grip on my waist and delivers another.
“Oh!”
And now he is really spanking me! It isn’t unbearable but it hurts, it hurts so much that I want to jump out of his lap! But I stay still, my hands firmly planted on the floor. Each slap stings my skin. It’s so much different now than the light slaps and I’m squirming, but he’s holding me tight. He’s started to land the spanks randomly, sometimes hitting the same place three or four times in a row before hitting somewhere else.