knights Draw In, a tale by anon (as requested)

Jim and Diane were painting the outside kitchen wall. It was a glorious week in late October: an Indian summer in miniature, in one week. Diane, concentrating on her brushwork around the window-frame, edged to the left, frowning in her frustration at the difficulties presented by the reveal."

"Oh fuck!" She had spilled the tin of paint. Jim turned and looked at her. "Darling you know I don't like you talking like that." "Sorry." "You will be, if you do it again."

She looked at him quizzically. "The next time you do it, I'll give you a good spanking," he said weightily. She smirked dissent and he smiled back, "Clear it up and make the tea."

All that seemed an age ago. November set in with a vengeance of gales and rainstorms. But they had finished the outside of the cottage and had begun the interior decoration. To those who knew them at the beginning of their relationship, they had appeared an unlikely match. They met at university: he having served some time in the army, to please his father. He was seven years her senior. She went straight from school. Having enrolled at the same time, they saw little of one another in their first year. Jim read electronic engineering and played rugby. Diane read English and maintained the healthy contempt in which all humanities students hold their scientific counterparts. He was quiet and studious most of the time, and drunkenly boisterous in a sub-infantile manner for the rest, which irritated Diane.

For her part, Diane took drugs, went to "alternative" night-clubs, and the pretentious parties of those who considered themselves the intellectual elite. In this, neither were true to themselves, both were sensitive and somewhat insecure. Jim felt himself distanced from his fellows by his age and military experience, and often deplored the inanity of the rugby club's and his own behaviour. Diane came from a secure, semi-rural background and was never wholly comfortable while sowing her wild oats or, if the reader should prefer it, having wild oats sown in her. They came together as more than passing acquaintances a few weeks into their second year. Both had missed a lecture and were in the refectory. They chatted about this and that, especially a spectacularly foolish performance of Jim's the preceding Saturday She was surprised to see him embarrassed. During their half-hour, it transpired that he was rather lonely and she was concerned (needlessly as it happened) for her drug taking and that she might be pregnant.

She found him a sympathetic listener and sensible and sensitive advisor: not what she expected. In so far as they were both somewhat at sea, Jim had the advantage of his military background and the self-reliance and self discipline it had reinforced in him. She came to cling to this a t first as confidante, but slowly and gently as lover. He had loved her at first sight, she found out. On that first morning in the canteen, when her friends came in and demanded to know what she was talking to that stupid man about, she said, "He's rather sweet really."

Now, four years later, recently married, they were wallpapering the kitchen of their new home. A lot of changes had come over Diane in that time. The cult clothes of her student days had given way to tasteful and feminine attire. Jim was very good to her, opening doors for her, buying her flowers and innumerable other small niceties, which made her, feel a lady. Diane reciprocated, being a good wife to him. She kept the home well and, when needed, made a little money, selling her watercolours in the local cafe and agency nursing. She also deferred to his peccadilloes when he went out with his friends and drank too much quite often. She removed her bodily hair, he took control of their money and so on. By and by it came to the stage that she did as she was told, which was rarely unreasonable. Her "lapse" into submission on her part, there was something flamboyant and theatrical, innate to her. She was not, as she held Jim to believe, unconsciously drifting into subservience, and he knew it. She was, to a considerable extent, rebelling against what she had been, and enjoyed seeing how far she could take it, At University, she had rebelled against her upbringing. She had, for example, given up smoking in preparation, sooner or later, for pregnancy and on the grounds of cost. The former reason was sufficient in itself but she complained that he continued to smoke, on the grounds of cost. And on occasion, specially at certain times of the month, when playing the little woman did not suit, she could be wilful, defiant and insolent Jim understood her to a degree which would have alarmed her, had she found out. He had resolved to improve things. He understood that, in common with all girls, she had a streak of mischief and devilment in her that would never disappear altogether. He loved this streak and hoped it would never leave her, it being natural But it needed to be subdued a little and he would, of course, be pleased to subdue it.

Jim stood on the ladder, Diane below him, holding a pasted piece of wallpaper. "Let's have it, darling."

She handed him the piece, he fumbled, and dropped it on her head. She stood for a moment, like a woman in traditional peasant costume. "Fucking hell, Jim, it's all in my hair, "she said, taking it off. She stood with her face and long fair hair glistening, as he saw it on their occasional sexual experimentation, when they forewent their usual activity. He smiled.

"Darling, you know what I said I'd do if you used that word again."

No," she replied untruthfully. "Go and wash it off.” "Okay."

She went upstairs, undressed and stepped into the shower, expecting to hear no more of the matter. While she was dressing Jim came into the bedroom.

"Darling, you do remember what I said, don't you?"

"Yes."

"I meant it, "he said solemnly.

"Meant what?"

"I'm going to spank you...and hard."

“You are not."

"Alright," he said, turning to go.

"You can't make me."

"I could easily make you, but I wouldn't dream of it."

“I’m sorry. I'll try not to say it again. "Jim turned to go again, but his look of disappointment made her call him back. "Jim, I'm sorry...but you say it so, why can’t I?"

“Because you are a young lady,” he replied.

"I'm not a young lady." His eyes travelled her beautiful body, but they were sad. "Jim, let's go to bed. Don't sulk”

“Later, perhaps, darling, "he said, going out. He had never refused her before.

Diane sat for a long time, nursing her injured pride. At length she went to find Jim, reading in the kitchen. "Jim, please be reasonable."

"I am."

"I don't want you to spank me. Do you want to hurt me?"

"If it's for our benefit, yes." She detected the glint of steely determination, not at all ruthless, but strong, which served him, therefore them both, so well in his professional life.

"But why? It's not fair."

"Because you're my wife. It's quite fair." His look of disappointment had gone. He was straightforward, pleasant even. "So, because I'm a female, I have to let you degrade me and hurt me like a naughty child. Because you're a man."

"I've said you don't have to. You've already refused and I accept it. I don't want to do it: unless you agree you deserve it, it's pointless. A simple act of cruelty and play acting. I'd spank you much harder than I would a child as well."

"So I've got to want you to do it?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"But how can I want you to?---- it hurts."

"Of course."

Diane gazed at Jim, helpless. "And if I refuse, can things go on as before...as if nothing happened?" "Yes, darling."

His voice was as usual, but she did not believe him. Not that he was, lying but she couldn't see how it could be.

"Can I go and think about it?"

"Of course, darling. And remember, if you do accept, I shall punish you for this display of defiance and lying to me. Also, if you accept, you may call me "Sir" when we're alone, and you're to thank me when it's over."

Beside herself with rage, Diane went to the bedroom. She lay on the bed and tried to calm herself. What Jim was asking was more than just for the upsets of the day: it would create an ongoing situation almost impossible to break. She had also known that this moment would come through many nuances, spoken and unspoken. Jim was asking a lot, "you may call me "Sir" for example. The idea of being spanked, of surrendering in that way was very sexy: she would take a few slaps on the bottom, painful or not, willingly for his pleasure, but he meant to punish her, which would take things well beyond the element of play. He was kind but firm and, as always would do the job thoroughly. He had, knowingly or not, put her in a corner: If she refused, things could not be the same, she knew. She felt trapped. Diane asked herself whether she loved Jim enough to let him hurt her-with no lasting harm, of course. Her mother had always said that woman were meant to suffer-although she had always disagreed to her mother's face, Diane accepted the principle as inevitable. Did she trust him to be fair and compassionate? Yes, very much so. She put a finger to her moist, dilated vagina and with her other hand caressed her erect nipples. She loved Jim and wanted to give herself to him in this noble act of love. She wanted to submit to his will. She knew she would hate every moment of it-but she wanted it so badly. She got up and went to the kitchen. Jim was still reading. She gulped, audibly.

"Please, Sir, I'm ready to take my punishment. I'm sorry I've been so defiant and lied to you, and I know I'll be punished for that as well."

He looked up at her and beamed. She smiled back, timidly, respectfully. "Good girl. Go upstairs and stand in the corner with just your knickers on. I’ll be up soon." "Yes, Sir." She did as ordered and Jim came up twenty minutes later.

"Darling, come here."

Jim laid a cane and a strap on the dressing table.

"These are for more serious offences. In future shows of defiance like today will call for the strap at least, probably the cane. But as it's the first time, not now."

"Please, Sir, if I deserve the cane, I'm willing to take it."

"Are you questioning my judgement, darling?"

"No, Sir...I mean yes, Sir. I'm sorry."

"In that case, darling, I'll give you two strokes with the cane and two with the strap to show you what you're trying to avoid."

"Thank you, Sir."

Jim sat on the chair. "Bend over my lap, darling. If you pull your knickers down, it's more painful." Slowly Diane bared her bottom and bent over Jim's knee. For about a minute Jim spanked her fairly gently, then it became harder. Her gasps grew to sobs to cries of pain. But she clenched her little fists, held her position and asked no mercy, knowing he would stop if asked. At length, long after she thought she could bear no more, it stopped. He let her sob over his knee for a few minutes, fondling her breasts and vagina. She could not believe how much she loved him in her agony.

"Stand up, darling and pull up tour knickers."

"Thank you, Sir," she sobbed.

"Bend over the chair."

She did as ordered, again lowering her knickers. Jim picked up the strap and gave her two hard strokes, at each of which she cried out.

"Did that hurt, darling?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Very much?"

"Yes, Sir, very much," she sobbed. Jim took the cane and noticed Diane shudder. He put a hand tenderly on her shoulder. "Darling, this is going to hurt more than the strap. Do you want to rest for a minute?"

"No thank you, Sir," she sobbed "unless you want to."

He gave her two hard strokes, thirty seconds between each. Again she cried out, louder and louder. Diane wept over the chair for some time as Jim undressed and admired his handiwork.

"Stand up, darling. Rub it." Diane stood up.

"Thank you, Sir," she gasped, examining her marks in the mirror. They caressed on the bed more tenderly and passionately than before. When she finished crying, he moved above her and she guided him into herself with her left hand, her right arm around his neck. As he plunged harder and deeper into her, she gripped the bed-head and was thrown, like a small light object, on the raging ocean of lust. The intimate professions of love were music to their ears many times that night, and each time, she thanked him from her heart-and vice versa.

The End Copyright © erinlass