Unraveling – Part 19
Her sleep was restless and her dreams were disconnected and lacking in any sort of chronology or reason; had they not been shadows of actual moments in her life she’d have passed them off as ridiculous.
One minute she was seven years old and in the stables with her father and Darby, the next she was in the interrogation room at Dachau, the next she was reliving the emotional pain of losing her first patient. On a continuous loop the scenes of her life played as she tried to find peace in sleep.
Early morning came mercifully; sitting up she brushed aside the last remnants of sleep, her eyes burned and her body ached – it would have been better if she hadn’t tried to sleep at all.
“Hi Gorgeous.” Paul was standing beside her, naked – he was a morning person. Normally she didn’t mind, but today she had no interest in sex … until she saw the hairbrush in his right hand; looking into his eyes she understood, he was going to try. She couldn’t recall a moment when she loved him more.
Seating himself on the edge of the bed he took her across his lap and gently lifted the tail of his dress shirt she wore as a nightie, folding it back so that it was no longer covering her bottom, and then he pulled down her panties until they were resting mid-thigh.
His mechanics were good and they were well practiced; taking her over his knee in a firm but gentle way, deliberately uncovering her bottom – panties down but never off … and he went through the steps slowly – understanding the importance of her anticipation.
Lying over his lap awaiting a moment she had longed for all of her life, a moment she had both repressed and dreamed of, a moment that would take her to Nirvana and open the Gates of Heaven, she realized Paul was trembling. He was struggling to make himself do this – choosing her need over his own emotional well-being.
Frantically, “Paul, I’ve changed my mind, I don’t want this …”
The brush fell on her unprotected bottom with a force she had only fantasized about until now.
“Be careful what you wish for my dear,” his tone was light and playful – he obviously believed her panicked protestation to be part of the scene – a game.
So she played along – protesting, kicking, covering her bottom with her hands all the while giggling and pretending added intensity was the only new element she needed in this dance.
But she now understood; it wasn’t merely a harder spanking she longed for, it was a harder spanking given by a man who understood this isn’t a game.