A Song for Sir – Part II

I couldn’t think at all straight. I had to calm down somehow. I grabbed the bottle of Rescue Remedy I used to use for performing and took 4 drops. Ok. Now this is daft, ridiculous and demeaning. Am I really going to go there? I’d glanced at the website to find the address and thought about reading more. Better not. It might put me off. Ah! So you want this then do you? Right.

I arrived at an unprepossessing front door in Long Acre about a quarter to four. I’d decided on my jeans and boots, for confidence, but could feel the suspender clips painfully rubbing through tight jeans anyway. I didn’t dare ring the bell early so I meandered along the road, looking at the beautiful people who all had money, style …. and probably couldn’t sing at all…. Walking back, I felt a resolve drop into my depths. I would do this. Whatever it was. It couldn’t be more difficult than performing.

I was let in when I buzzed. Just a normal consultation. Walked through a hallway and spotted a sign on a door “John Hammond”. I knocked. Out of body.

“Come in”

As I did so, my brain wheeled into cut-off. It suddenly seemed like the beginning of any consultation with a professional, I just couldn’t quite pinpoint which.  As I looked at the man coming to shake my hand, dressed casually but wearing a jacket, I couldn’t figure out why I’d come. The pleasantries over he beckoned me to sit. Two chairs facing each other, fairly close, no desk.

“So tell me about performing and the concert you have coming up? When is it?”

I started to relate how it feels to be preparing for something you really, really want to do, and yet to have such utter fear about being able to pull it off. How I only had 3 days to go, how nervous I was. He listened intently, with a strange calm in his eyes. I kept looking away for some reason I couldn’t fathom. I noticed I was wringing my hands as I spoke. I crossed and uncrossed my legs, acutely aware of my stockings. I talked on, gabbled on about singing and its importance realising that I really had nothing more to say, and terrified to think about why I had really come. I can’t let this into my mind.

“I think I will be able to help you, Ruby. Stand up and come here” – such a calm, controlled voice, so contrasting with the explosion of terror I felt.

Horrified, I found myself complying. I started to shake. I couldn’t, couldn’t ask what was going to happen. My mind refused what my body seemed so willing to go to. He took my arms as he sat forward. He explained he was going to undress me, just enough to go over his knee for a spanking. That he would give me time to breathe, but that I wasn’t to say anything.

And then it began. I looked down at his hands as he took the waistband of my jeans and gently undid the button and pulled down the zip. Mortification rocked me on my already unsteady legs. I willed the trousers not to slide down my legs, tried to bend with them to prevent it, to not have to undergo it. He gently stood me straight again and told me to bend over his knee. At least my face was hidden now, and though utterly undignified, I wasn’t looking straight at him anymore.

Soft hands stroked my bottom. Until my stiff body relaxed to its fate somewhat. Then he began. Soft, slow slaps to get the measure of me, to let me feel how it was. To understand fully that he was in control. I stared at the carpet, unable to react for humiliation. My mind now swung the other way. Now, ALL there was were these sensations. I didn’t exist anywhere else. The slaps got harder and more regular. As my bottom warmed, my limpness increased. Then a mild sting began, building with his regular pulsing contact. As it reached an uncomfortable point, I felt him draw me into his body with his free hand. I tipped over into panic as the blows kept coming. He felt it and stopped, rubbing my bottom to ease the sting. This process went on for some time, each time I was taken further along, required to endure more. At last, I couldn’t stop myself from wriggling to avoid the blows. At that point he stopped.

“Now, Ruby, I have to take you beyond a point of comfort for this to work. Do you understand? You may answer.”

“Ye…yes,” I answered to my amazement. Somehow, I already missed his hand’s regular rhythm on me.

I felt him slide my panties down to reveal my buttocks and a wash of shame ran through me at the view he would be getting. I felt completely naked in that moment, as I had acquiesed to my own exposure. That’s what I couldn’t work out, how I could want two totally disparate things at the same time. I stopped trying to as the spanking continued, harder, rhythmic as before. This time he didn’t stop. I writhed, I begged, I apologised for myself, for being scared, for lying to him, for ringing him not texting, for anything I could think of to make it stop.

Eventually, eventually it did. I lay panting and sobbing over his knee for some time. Until I came back into myself somewhat. I returned to my body but to a delicious langour I had never felt before, I didn’t seem to mind at all that I was lying there, over the rough material of a strange man’s knee.

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