Changes, a tale by annie

Diane stood outside the study door, facing the wall, hands behind her back with her feet apart. She didn't know how long it would be before Jim came home but she hoped it would be soon and they could get it over and done with. Whenever she was sentenced to a punishment in advance of its actually taking place, he ordered her to stand in the posture which she now adopted, to await his convenience and ponder the wrongdoing which had brought her to it. Diane gazed at the wallpaper and shifted her weight uneasily from one foot to the other. Jim usually liked to keep her waiting a while at these times; it was all part of the punishment, she accepted. She so wanted him to come home and get it over with, on the one hand, but anticipated her dread and giddiness when she heard the key in the door. perhaps he would stop for a soft drink with his friends on the way home - he never drank alcohol before a punishment - to keep her in agonised suspense. The suspense, however, was as to the severity of the punishment rather than its nature: she knew (they both knew) that she was to receive the cane, that being the only punishment invariably inflicted in the study. The strokes were always administered with the same, considerable firmness, but how many she would get she didn't know. She continued to scrutinise the wallpaper and decided that it would be nice to replace it. Then her mind drifted again to speculate on what she was due. The offence was quite serious, she fully realised and she deserved to be firmly dealt with or the cane would not be called for: she was caned once every three or four weeks, and never without good reason. The unfortunate incident had been, as it sometimes was, rooted in the monthly devil which possessed her. An already awkward time had been fraught with innumerable minor disasters which made the world seem to have taken against her. On top of this, Jim had been especially demanding. She had snapped, sworn at him, thrown a plate on the floor, told him to do his own menial f***ing tasks and stormed out of the house. Half an hour later, overcome with shame by the enormity of what she had done, she had returned home, apologetic and bathed in tears of penitence. He has been very fair with her, having had her stand in the garage in her underwear for half an hour to cool herself down (it was the middle of January): he had commiserated with her difficulty and discomfort and told her she would be punished when when her cycle was past, as he always did. That morning, as ordered, she apprised him of her condition and he ordered her to wait for him as she was. She began to weigh the matter up from his perspective. Insolence, disobedience, foul language and destruction were serious offences where she was concerned, he maintained - the fact that he indulged in foul language when he chose, did not come into it for some reason. She was definitely due a sound thrashing, she realised, and she deserved it: as always, he would make no allowance for the mitigating circumstance, and rightly so, she felt. She was sure to get at least nine strokes, she knew, probably more. Tears welled in her eyes and coursed her cheeks. But rather than pondering her imminent fate, she fell into a reverie of introspection. How different she was, she reflected, from the rather wayward, insecure girl, too suspicious to give her full love, who married Jim less than two years ago. She was now wholly secure, loved and loving, considerate in all her deeds - excepting the odd deviation such as the one leading to her present predicament - and happy in all areas of her life and relationships. She had learned respect and obedience and, equally importantly, learned to enjoy the fulfillment which they gave her: she loved her master and was delighted to serve and please him no matter how painful it sometimes was, like now, to achieve this - and he loved and looked after her. She was surprised and delighted to admit to herself that she wanted him to come, to order her into the study, to bare her bottom and bend over the desk and be flogged. Of course there was no pleasure in the the pain of the punishment, quite the reverse, but she knew she had displeased him through her own fault and knew that it would delight him to make her suffer in this way, doing no lasting harm: she deserved whatever he was so good as to bestow on her and so wanted to give herself to such suffering, to show him that she had returned to obedience, and by that how she loved and submitted to him. She dried her eyes and forced a smile: she didn't want to upset him by showing her fear.

Almost forty minutes later, Diane heard Jim's key in the door. A tight knot formed in her stomach and her head became light. She heard him pass behind her and enter the study, where she had cleared the desk and placed the cane on it. After ten minutes he called: "Come in." She knocked on the door and was ordered in. He was leaning against the fireplace with a pleasant smile on his face, no hint of irony. She was trembling. "Nice day, darling?"

"Yes, thank you, Sir. As good as it could be under the circumstances," she replied with a slight smile, anxious not to deflect him from his task - for all that he was firm, he was tender hearted and didn't find it easy to inflict the cane on her although, obviously, once resolved to do so and the punishment was under way, he thoroughly enjoyed it!! He smiled back.

"Darling, I'm sorry to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. You understand that, don't you?" "Yes, Sir, of course," she said, resisting the temptation to point out that he loved it and was just saying this to build the the atmosphere and her tension in particular. She wondered how long he'd go on like this, rather impatiently, as she wanted it over with and action in the bedroom. But he'd spin it out, she knew, and who was she to spoil his enjoyment - in fact, there was a delicious frisson of pleasure on her part in this tension.

"I don't need to tell you what this is for, do I?"

"No, Sir, not at all," she said hoarsely. Tears of fear welled in her eyes and again coursed her cheeks.

"Are you alright, darling?" he asked in genuine concern.

"I'm sorry, Sir, I'm just so ashamed," she sobbed. Again she forced a smile, "but I'm fine, thank you."

"Take my jacket, darling." She helped him off with his jacket, hung it on the door and rolled up the left sleeve of his shirt. Then she handed him the cane, with a smile and a curtsy. "Bend over."

"Yes, Sir." She raised her dress, lowered her knickers and placed herself across the desk, gripping the far edge. She heard him cut the air with the cane: a knot formed again her stomach, tighter than before and her head span. He laid the cane gently against her bottom. "Diane, this is for insolence, foul language, disobedience and smashing the plate. You know that." " Yes, Sir," she replied almost testily - how she wanted it to be over, and how often would he enumerate what they both already knew. "Have you anything to say?" "Please, Sir, I'm so sorry. I'll never do it again." "Good, I'm glad to hear it," he replied untruthfully, desperately hoping, in fact, knowing this to be untrue. "You know I have to be severe, don't you?" "Yes,Sir." "And that you deserve it?" "Yes, Sir." "Have you any requests?" He always asked this question, and she knew why. In her terror she could not help begging for leniency, futile though she knew it was, and in refusing, he emphasised his mastery of her. "Please, Sir, please don't do it too hard. I promise I'll never do it again. Please...." She began to cry. "Why not, darling?" The same question every time. "Because it's so painful, Sir, please...." "That's the whole point, darling. You agree that you deserve it, don't you?" A pause. "Yes, Sir." "Are you ready?" "Yes, Sir."

Diane received nine strokes, crying out at each with increasing volume and sobbed over the desk. "Did that hurt, darling?" "Yes, Sir, thank you," she sobbed, praying for that to be the end. " You've six more to come, darling. Are you ready?" " Please, Sir, no more. I can't bear it." "Are you ready?" " I'm sorry, Sir. Yes, I'm ready."

Later, as they caressed in bed, Diane proud of her stripes and feeling like a million dollars, Jim said: "Did you enjoy that, darling?The caning, I mean."

"No, Sir, of course not but thank you for it. I didn't mean to be cheeky."

"Are you glad I punished you? Do you think you deserved it?"

"Yes, Sir, of course,"she said with a smile.

"You don't mind how much it hurt?"

"No, Sir, it's none of my business," she said, gazing into her eyes, "I don't mind how much you hurt me if it makes me better for you." He moved himself above her and she parted her legs to receive him.

The End Copyright © annie