Submission

 

Pairing:  Thane/Rob

Warning:  None

Implement:  Hand, paddle

Author:  Jenny

 

I sighed.  When that didn’t raise a response I sighed again, louder and I let it die off into a plaintive moan.  I squirmed, accidentally-on-purpose, bumping against his leg from my position on the floor.  He glanced down at me, those blue eyes sending a silent reproof and I subsided for a moment.  Jesus, this was boring, sitting at his feet while he and several other Doms discussed …well, I don’t what, I hadn’t been paying attention because it was so damn boring.  I glanced surreptitiously around at the other subs sitting at their Dom’s feet.  To my dismay they all seemed perfectly content, sitting still and listening quietly in contrast to my own restlessness.

 

I’d already had a try at dozing off but when I started to slump, I’d been hauled discreetly back into an upright position.  Finally, I tugged at the cuff of his pants, the expensive leather soft in my grasp.  He looked down at me again, his eyes flashing an irritated inquiry.

 

“I’d like to go now.”  It came out pretty damn close to a demand rather than a request. 

 

I heard a small gasp of shock from Kyle who was sitting at Ben’s feet and I shot him an angry glare.  Bastard.  Well, no he was actually a really sweet guy but right then his effortless submission was annoying the hell out of me.

 

In fact when I looked around the room, all of the subs wore identical expressions of wide-eyed incredulity at my rudeness.

 

“Excuse us, please?”  Thane said politely as he got up from the couch.  Reaching down he grasped my hand and I was pulled to my feet.

 

This was more like it.  I only had to ask, well demand actually, and he jumped.  I had this whole Dom/sub thing all wrong.  I’d been a Bottom for the past several months, playing casually in the club with accommodating Tops.  Hesitating to do anything more, because while I loved the physical sensations of playing, the whole submission thing kind of freaked me out, quite frankly.  Bottoming I could still call all the shots, directing exactly what I wanted and the Top did what I said.  The best of both worlds, as far as I could see, I stayed in control and enjoyed all that attention. That all changed a few weeks ago when I got a glimpse of Thane one night at The Detour in all his dominant glory.  He’d recently moved to the city and didn’t play casually. I found out through the grapevine he wanted a sub.  And that was a non-negotiable requirement.  So I told myself that I could be a sub, no problem.  It seemed I was right.  I gave a smug grin to the subs still sitting obediently at their partner’s feet.  That they didn’t return it with a smirk of their own was a tribute to their kindness, I realized only later. 

 

Ben joined us in the front door to say goodnight.  I looked around at the marble tiles that decorated the floor and the tasteful artwork that covered the walls.  It was nice.  Very nice and I wondered idly if it was Ben or Kyle that was the talented one responsible for the decor.  I had a small fledgling decorating business of my own and I instantly appreciated how well it all worked together.  I was brought out of my musings by Thane speaking to me, sharply too, “Boy, Ben is trying to say good night to you.”

 

“Oh, Good night,” I said absently.  I thought it was respectful enough but Ben didn’t seem impressed.  In fact, he didn’t look impressed at all with me and I guess he wouldn’t be, compared to all the other boys I was a spectacularly unimpressive sub.  Suddenly I felt bad about that.  I hadn’t really cared until I saw that look of clear disapproval on this man’s handsome face.  And when I looked at Thane’s face my chest squeezed even tighter.  He looked embarrassed and my stomach flopped over, knowing I was the reason.

 

But my mood brightened as soon as we were outside.  “Are we going back to your place?” I asked eagerly, my heart beating faster at the thought of being alone with him.  He had a lovely house himself, just out of the city and more importantly a well-appointed playroom.  I was more than ready for a good play session.

 

“Yes,” he answered as we both got into the car.  His voice was strained and I began to get the first inkling that my night wasn’t going to improve despite escaping from the House of Tedium.  Even with my nervous ramblings he stayed silent and gradually I ran out of conversation.  When we finally arrived at his house my anxiety had pretty much taken over my thoughts and knowing I was probably in for a major telling off, I turned on the charm.  I’m not burdened with false modesty.  I know I’m attractive and I worked it hard, sure he’d forget about how annoyed he was when he focused on me.  But when I tried to rub myself against him he moved me firmly away.

 

“Stop that. You and I are going to have a talk, right now.”

 

I couldn’t help it, I was used to getting my own way about things in general, sex in particular.  The lip slipped out purely out of reflex.  “About what?” I asked sullenly.

 

Suddenly I was clutching the stinging right cheek of my bottom.  His hand had snaked out and deposited an almighty smack with such lightning speed that I swear I didn’t even see him move.

 

Oww,” I gasped.  Then the sting really registered and I rubbed the tingling handprint, protesting indignantly, “Oww that hurt.”

 

“The proper response to that was, ‘Yes, sir.’  Pouting is for little boys.  Since you are supposed to be my submissive, not a little boy….?”

 

He’d made me show him my driver’s license when we first met to prove without a doubt I was over the legal age.  And I was near six feet and 180 pounds, I was far from being a little boy and I flushed angrily at the implication I was acting like one.  But one look at his stern face and I couldn’t quite get the ‘Fuck off’ out of my mouth in response.  “No,” I said tightly.  “I’m not.”

 

“Good.  Then you and I have a chance at a reasonable conversation.  Yes?”

 

“Yes.” 

 

“You gave me the distinct impression you were a sub looking for a Dom.  It seems that was a false one?”

 

His voice was hard and I felt my gut twist in response to his question.  I had wanted him, wanted him badly.  Badly enough to have outright lied to him.  I took a shaky breath and attempted to be a little more accurate.  “Well, I’ve been a Bottom for quite a few scenes.”

 

He winced.  “So you have never been anyone’s submissive?”

 

It seemed like it would be a very bad idea to lie again so I whispered, “No, sir.”

I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him and I sank to my knees reflexively in front of him.  “Please, sir.  I do want you.  I’ll try really hard to be a good sub.”

 

He sighed, “It’s not quite that simple.  You can’t just conjure up submissive feelings if they aren’t there.  You’ll end up resentful, like tonight.”

 

I squirmed, genuinely embarrassed at my behavior now.  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to leave.”

 

“But being a submissive means that you find satisfaction in pleasing me,” he explained quietly.  “You wouldn’t have felt that resentment.”

 

“You could teach me,” I said tentatively. At the dubious look he was giving me I begged, “Please, give me a chance?”

 

He paced the large room for a few moments while I waited, my heart in my mouth. “All right,” Thane finally relented.  “But if I feel that it’s not working, then we end the relationship.  No arguments.  Agreed?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, limp with relief. 

 

“First we have to deal with a few things.”

 

I tensed at the ominous tone of that statement.  “Like what, sir?”

 

“Your lie for starters.  We discussed what we wanted from each other, in some detail.  You are quite the accomplished impostor.  You deliberately misled me.”

 

“Well…” I stammered reluctantly.  I was actually a consummate liar and I’d known enough about how things worked to have been very convincing.  “Not deliberately.”

 

“If we can’t be honest with each other, this has no chance of working.”  His voice was cool and my heart thumped wildly at the thought I was going to be dismissed right then.

 

It suddenly seemed a very shameful thing, to have lied to him. “I just wanted you so bad.”  And that was the truth.

 

His mouth quirked into a half-smile and he admitted, “Well, I wanted you too.”

 

I returned the smile, beaming at him like an infatuated teenager.

 

His smile unfortunately faded all too soon and he said seriously, “Trust and honesty are absolutely necessary in this type of relationship.”

 

I nodded, truly remorseful.  I did feel badly about lying to him.

 

“Well, then,” he said thoughtfully. “If you agree, a paddling for the lies and a spanking for your general disrespect tonight.”

 

“Sir?” I wasn’t expecting a play session in light of his obvious displeasure with me.

 

He saw my apparent confusion.  “Punishment, boy.  Not play.”

 

“Oh, yes sir,” I agreed.  I’d never had a punishment spanking and I didn’t see how I wouldn’t enjoy it.  It was the way I was wired.  But he didn’t need to know that.  I leapt to my feet and started towards the basement where his playroom was located.

 

“No, boy,” he said, and I didn’t understand the regretful tone in his voice.  “We’ll do this in the guest room.  Go and wait for me there.  I just need to get a paddle.”

 

I trotted off obediently to the designated room, where I stood, not quite sure what to do with myself.  I felt a bit twitchy to be honest and not in a good way.  When he joined me and I saw the small wooden paddle in his hand, I reminded him, “Oh, I don’t like the wood, remember?  I prefer the leather paddle.”  I continued to blather on, “I actually don’t get off on paddles, anyway.  The flogger is what really does it for me.  Or the cane.”

 

He nodded, he knew all that but I noted with some trepidation that he wasn’t running back downstairs to replace the implement with one of my choice.  He went and sat on the bed, his long legs still encased in black leather, making a more than ample resting place for me to lie across.  I blushed hotly when he beckoned me over.  When I played, being a fan of the cane or the flogger, I was on a cross or across a bench.  This over the knee thing made my insides roil.  “Oh, sir,” I moaned in appeal and backed up, further away from him.  “Please, not like that.”

 

“I expect your obedience,” he said matter-of-factly. “Come here.”

 

I shifted anxiously in place for only a moment and then started to inch forward, his deep voice luring me towards him.  “Very good,” he praised me when I finally arrived in front of him and my heart gave a little leap, ridiculously pleased at his words.  His hands went to my fly, and I managed to stay still while he tugged my tight pants down.   I wasn’t wearing any underwear and I pulled my shirt down to hide my half-hard cock.  I couldn’t help it; despite being in disgrace, the thought of what he was about to do still turned me on.

 

Until he began to scold me.  About how I’d let myself down by lying about my experience and needs.  And how in deceiving him, I had weakened the bond of trust between us.  He didn’t raise his voice, he didn’t have to.  His words, with the weight of truth, hit me like a punch to the stomach and by the time he was finished my cock had deflated and my balls were shriveling in shame.  When he explained about the coming paddling I felt a surge of eagerness to prove I was sorry and I quickly agreed when he asked gravely if I consented to be punished. 

 

“I don’t expect you to take a punishment in silence,” he said, his voice softening now that he was finished lecturing.  “Go ahead and let it out. I won’t harm you in any way but it will hurt.”

 

I went where I was led, facedown over his lap but once I was in place, I felt a warm flush of shame wash over me, engulfing my whole body.  I squirmed, trying to get comfortable, it was impossible but then it wasn’t the physical discomfort of being across his knees that was bothering me.

 

He arranged me to his liking, positioning me so I was secure.  Raising the small paddle he brought it down solidly on my right cheek.  Then without pausing he smacked the left.  Too hard, too fast, my brain screamed and my body stiffened in unconscious objection.  He was a genius at inflicting sting, the flick of his wrist at the end of the stroke ensuring no damage or deep pain, only an immense smart.  I didn’t feel any of the familiar stirring in my groin that always accompanied any play.   When he landed a swat on my sensitive upper thigh, I squealed in protest.  That part of my body had remained a forbidden zone for the Tops I played with.  I lasted probably a pathetic total of six strokes before I tried to slide off his lap.

 

He held me firmly, I could feel the great strength in his arms but he stroked my hair with equal gentleness.  I lay still, stunned that I couldn’t somehow turn the pain into pleasure.  Knowing I had displeased him coupled with the intense sting made it impossible. 

 

“Do I continue?”

 

I knew that I could get up off his lap right then and he would let me.  I knew that but I lay where I was, trembling.  I wanted to submit to him, atone for what I’d done wrong but I was unprepared for the pain and the shame that overwhelmed me.

 

“It hurts, sir,” I whimpered.

 

That he didn’t laugh at my pitiful lack of stamina was a testament to his compassionate nature.  Instead he said sympathetically, “I know.”

 

I thought about what I’d done to deserve the punishment and I felt this strange sensation.  It was as unfamiliar as it was odd.  Like I was melting from the inside out.  There was an intense connection between Thane and me, an almost electric charge that bound us together.

 

“I’m ready, sir,” I whispered.  And he repositioned me and resumed my punishment.

 

I’d like to say I took the rest of the paddling in quiet acceptance.  I’d really like to say that but I didn’t.  I pleaded and wailed, kicked and squirmed.  I think I even peed on his leg a bit.  But I didn’t yell out my safe word or seriously try to get away.

 

I lay sobbing uncontrollably when he’d finished, my bottom on fire.  My thighs too, half-way to my knees, burned fiercely.  Again I was at a loss to know what to do with myself.  I never cried when I played and I couldn’t cope with this unleashing of emotions.  I tried to choke back the tears and lift myself off his lap but his hand, heavy and soothing stroked my back, keeping me in place.  When my frantic weeping had died down a little, he allowed me to slide off his lap and kneel at his feet.  I couldn’t look at him though and I kept my head bowed.  He grasped my chin in his large hand and lifted it and my wet hazel eyes unwillingly met his blue ones.  “What was the lesson, boy?”

 

“Honesty, sir,” I hiccupped, my eyes continuing to stream.

 

“Good,” he said, his tone satisfied.  “Come here now.”  He opened his arms and I went to him, laying my head against his chest.  Wrapping his arms around me he held me tightly against him as I sobbed.  At first I held myself rigid, the soreness of my backside making me a little wary of him.  But gradually my arms slid around his middle and I buried my face in his shirtfront and a feeling of peace settled over me.  The shame and guilt that had besieged me before had passed and I felt his forgiveness like a tangible thing.  It was warm and safe there in his sheltering arms.  I don’t know how long he let me stay there, a long time I think but I was still reluctant to be released when he eased me away from him.

 

“All right,” he said.  “I want you to kneel here and think about your behavior tonight.  You’re going to tell me what was wrong with it and how you’re going to do better next time.”

 

The sudden realization that I still had a spanking due made me whimper in protest and I tried to cling to him.  “I’m sorry,” I said plaintively.  “Please.” 

 

“No,” he said, giving me a reassuring hug and gently disentangling my hands from his shirt.  “I expect your obedience.”

 

So I knelt there, thinking hard about obedience instead of my conduct at the party.  Could I actually be obedient?  Was I capable of it, innately?  Then I realized why he had broken my punishment into two parts.  I had consented to the paddling freely but without knowing what it really meant; now I knew exactly what submitting to the spanking would entail.  Informed consent was a double-edged sword.

 

I wasn’t sure what my decision would be until he called me to him.  He was sitting on the bed again and he held out his hand to me.  Clearly, by the expectant expression on his face, he wasn’t plagued by doubt.  I stood up and went to him without hesitation and he took my hand, gripping it in encouragement.  And then I burst into tears again.

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” I apologized through my sobs.  “I don’t know why I’m being such a coward.  I can take a lot when I play.”

 

“No, Rob.  Don’t be sorry,” he said kindly.  “It’s a hard thing to be punished.  To consent willingly to it is a very brave thing.”

 

Comforted by the fact he hadn’t shamed me, I managed to stop the flow of tears.

He gestured for me to kneel and I went to my knees in front of him.  Locking eyes with me, he asked if I had thought about my behavior.

 

“Not really, sir,” I confessed, the lesson on honesty still painfully foremost in my mind thanks to the throbbing of my backside.

 

He looked a bit taken back by my truthfulness but he simply said, “Let’s talk about it then.”

 

So we discussed expectations and rules about behavior for a while.  I’m not entirely stupid, I knew how I was behaving at Ben and Kyle’s was rude and disrespectful and I admitted that to him without too much hedging.

 

“Don’t think you can manipulate me by behaving badly, Rob.  If this happens again, we won’t leave.  I will simply find a private place to discipline you there.”

 

The thought horrified me.  That everyone there would know, even if they didn’t hear or witness it.  And then I remembered the sympathetic looks I was getting from the other subs.  They expected that I was being taken home to be punished and my face flushed with embarrassment at the realization that they already did know.

 

“I wouldn’t like that,” I managed to stammer.

 

“I won’t ever punish you for an honest mistake, Rob.  If it’s done out of ignorance you have nothing to worry about.  Trust me to know the difference between being deliberately disrespectful and not knowing what to do.”

 

“Yes, sir,” I agreed thoughtfully.  I did trust him not to punish me unfairly.  And I could behave myself properly.  I was an adult, not a child that couldn’t control themselves.

 

“Well, boy,” he said, taking my hand again and pulling me to my feet.  “You have a spanking coming.”

 

“Yes, sir,” I agreed reluctantly, the tears already welling up again at the thought of my already painful bottom being spanked.

 

“For being disrespectful, to me and to the other guests,” he said.

 

I nodded and unhappily allowed myself to be guided across his lap again.  I lay there, gasping for breath like I’d run a marathon.  His feel of his hand resting on my scorched skin sent me into a paroxysm of squirming.  “I’m sorry for being rude, sir,” I said, desperately hoping my remorsefulness would count for something.

 

I’m not sure if it did or not but I do know that the spanking wasn’t harsh.  It probably consisted of about twenty firm smacks on my bottom, which being sore already felt a lot worse than they really were.  So I cried again, but it was more out of relief that it was over and well, quite frankly, self-pity.  He let me stay in his arms for as long as I liked after until I started to let my hands wander a bit.

 

“No,” he said firmly, grasping my groping hand.  “You are one of those people who can easily turn pain into pleasure.  I will not have you associate a punishment with sex.  It will only confuse you, Rob.  Your body will remember even if your mind tells you otherwise.”

 

“I don’t care,” I said petulantly, trying to free my hand. 

 

He turned me slightly and swatted me hard.  I yelped and tried to stand but he held me in place.  “That’s enough.  Apologize for your rudeness at once.”

 

He wasn’t fooling around, I could tell by the hardness of his eyes and I swallowed and murmured, “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

 

Allowed back into his embrace, I settled against his chest again, definitely feeling chastened.  “Should I go now, sir?” I asked hesitantly.  If we weren’t going to play or have sex, well what else was there to do?

 

“No, of course not,” he said easily.  “Let’s see if the game’s on T.V.”

 

It was kind of surreal, cuddling on the couch with him, my backside still sore enough that I was lying more than sitting with my head resting on his solid chest.  He stroked his fingers through my hair absently as we talked about ordinary thing, half-watching the game.  It was nice, we’d traveled to some of the same places and the spark of common interest spurred our conversation.

 

Later, I woke beside him in his bed, unsure of how I got there.  He was on his side facing me and I watched him sleep for a moment.  His face, so wonderfully masculine, was softened slightly in sleep.  A feeling of happiness overwhelmed me, so powerful that I lay still, unable to move for its strength.  It felt so right, being there with him that all my worries about whether I could submit were faint whispers in my subconscious. 

 

I reached out tentatively to touch him, my fingers ghosting over his muscular forearm to come to rest on his hand.  His hand that had spanked me.  It was broad and strong with several scars telling of hard work at some point in his life.   I felt the warmth as well as the strength in that hand and realized with surprise I didn’t resent the punishment that it had doled out. I guess I had disturbed his rest with my gentle exploration and he stirred and said sleepily, “All right, boy?”

 

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, the thrill of being his boy shooting through me.  I was better than all right.

 

The End