Apology Accepted, a tale by annie

Sarah and Tom were watching television:he sat in the arm-chair and she sat at his feet,on the floor. She was not made to sit on the floor but she liked to do so as it gave her a feeling of security and subservience and,for much the same reciprocal reasons,he liked it too. The film they were watching came to its tragic denouement and,as the maligned and mistreated hero drew his last breath,tears welled in her eyes. Tom picked up the newspaper and looked at the programme schedule. "Darling,turn over to Channel Four and go to bed." It was her bed-time but it was a Saturday and she especially wanted to see the programme next on.

"Please,Sir,may I stay and watch the next programme?"

"No,darling. Off you go,there's a good girl."

"But,Sir,everyone watches it. It's so funny."

"Sarah,don't be awkward. It's not suitable for a girl to see,let alone hear. Now go on." She stood up and,without kissing or wishing him good night,left the room. Once in the bed-room,having washed her face and brushed her teeth,she got into bed and turned out the light,but she did not sleep. She was angry that he had sent her to bed when he was watching the programme she so wanted to see. She was for the most part a good girl,happy to be submissive,indeed believing that to be the natural role of the female. She accepted her punishments with a good grace,again believing this to be the duty of her sex. But sometimes she found it hard to obey when the order appeared unfair or futile,as it did both in this case. She accepted that some things were not suitable for viewing by a girl but,in this instance,the language was no worse than she heard in the office each day (he had decided that she would work until they started a family) and the nudity no more than could be seen in magazine advertisements. The whole thing was unfair and she was cross. These thoughts in her mind,she slipped into that heightened state of consciousness which is the ethereal wilderness between the material world and the realm of sleep:and she stayed there. Gradually,her perception of the incident inverted. In her heart,she realised, she was happy to be sent to bed,to await his pleasure if he so desired-and he so desired most nights. Free of the constraints of the logical considerations of the real world,as all are happy to be on occasion,she realised that the apparent unfairness of his order was its source of delight to her, something of a thrill and a liberation. As a female,she was delighted to pass the responsibility of such decisions to a man whom she loved and trusted who,in his turn,loved her no less and had proved his good sense and concern for her welfare so often. This conscious and unforced transfer of power to him enhanced her femininity by an unquantifiable measure and,equally,enhanced his masculinity. This whole process had enhanced them both so much and so beautifully to their mutual benefit and,in its turn,benefited their many friends,most of whom considered them an object example of mutual respect and affection. She considered the programme she had wanted to watch and it now seemed hateful to her, hateful and trivial. How much more content she was in bed,knowing her place and secure. How secure and content she was in all ways, in fact,looked after and gently guided. And in this state of heightened awareness,the enormity of what she had done,in thought as well as deed, assumed vast proportions. She had denied and defied her own femininity and,no less,his masculinity. She had in large part undone the bond they had so tenderly and consensually tied together. She curled herself up feeling so wretched as to sink into the earth. She was roused from her miserable reverie by his coming into the room.

Thinking her to be asleep, he did not turn on the light and she heard his clothes fall to the floor. He gently climbed into the bed and,having kissed the top of her head,softly so as not to wake her,lay down to sleep. No sooner had he lain down,he became aware of her her shuddering as she sobbed in her shame. He switched on the bedside light,turned her to face him and cuddled her as she wept,knowing what was in her heart and mind. "Sir,I'm so sorry."

"I know,darling,I know."

"Can you ever forgive me, Sir?"

"Of course,darling." She raised her tear stained face to his. He smiled at her gently,tenderly and rather sadly. In doing so he made her aware the more how much she loved him and how good to her he was and she wailed in her distress at what she had done and how she must have hurt him-hurt them both-in her defiance. She buried her head in his chest and sobbed as though her heart would break. He knew and understood her to an extent which would have alarmed her had she known it;but she never did know it because he never took advantage of it.Right now he knew what she craved and,in a certain sense,almost wanted. The sense of calm and resolution in him showed itself to her in the way he gently cradled her and, gradually,her sobs subsided. Again she looked up at him. "Sir,can you really forgive me?"

"Yes,darling."

"But, Sir, I thought such awful things too."

"I know, darling, I know. Go and bend over the table." She flung her arms around his neck, kissed him and got out of bed. She went to the table in the corner of the room, kept there for her punishment, raised her negligee and laid herself over it. In doing so she placed her feet far apart,not only to expose herself for his arousal but equally as a sign of submission to him. She heard him open the cupboard door and wondered what implement he would choose. For the first time, with a sense of near delight she heard him cut the air with the cane. How she wanted-needed-this to hurt. The punishment she was to receive was important symbolically as much or more than otherwise. The "material" offence, that of leaving the room without a good night or kiss, deserved a spanking and no more but this was to be a punishment for the attitude and mendacity then and afterwards she knew:they both knew. She felt the cane laid gently against her bottom and drew in her breath as her body tensed. With a sense of near euphoria she felt the cane lifted from her bottom,knowing that the beating was to begin.

He did not punish her as severely as she expected;hoped for even. Twelve hard strokes,thirty seconds between each and it was over. He laid down the cane and let her sob over the table for a while. "Well,darling,I think that'll do. Go and tidy up in the bath-room."

"Please, Sir, it won't do. You can't know it but I had some awful thoughts about you in bed." She began to sob again in her misery. He ran his fingers over the weals on her bottom.

"How bad were they, darling?"

"Really bad, Sir," she howled, "Please,Sir, I deserve twelve more at least for it."

He caressed her hair and said: "I can't know everything you're thinking, darling. Are you sure you deserve another twelve strokes?"

"Yes, Sir, at least that,thank you." He obliged her request.

She was twenty minutes in the bath-room,recovering from her ordeal.When she hobbled back to the bed-room and removed her negligee,he marvelled at the livid sight of her bottom,the more so as it was inflicted largely at her own request. Whimpering,she painfully climbed into the bed.They embraced and kissed,long and tender.Gradually,his hand found its way between her legs and,finding her wholly receptive,he switched off the bedside light with his other hand.

The End Copyright © annie