Do You Have Any Regrets?

This is a true story that is slightly embellished. I've changed the names and some of the events to protect the innocent. I tried to portray what happened as close as possible to the actuality. This is not fiction and, thus, the "characters" are very flawed. Please keep that in mind and treat that as such. A polite suggestion: negative flaming "Anonymous" commenters who appear to have one purpose (not constructive criticism, rather to destroy the self-esteem of the writer) will have their posts removed. I have not been the only victim of this vicious behavior. Please be respectful of your fellow Literoticans.

A special thank you and shout out to chixjinxbdsm who wrote a story whose male lead character reminded me so much of "Chris" that I felt compelled to finally draft my unresolved feelings on paper. You are a rock star among Literoticans! I can't wait to find out what happens next to Aiden and Amy!

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He didn't just say that, did he? I looked around the table, aghast at what had come out of his mouth.

I caught my best friend's eye. She appeared equally shocked—and disgusted.

In contrast, I was shocked—but not disgusted. I was more aroused than anything, to be perfectly honest—and that scared me.

He stared at me through his glasses, his expression inscrutable, but, even after knowing him for only a few months, I could tell he was challenging me, daring me.

"Bend over this table for your birthday spanking," he had said in the busy lounge of the liberal arts building at our university.

We dominated—pardon the pun—the only table in the room, a four-top in waitressing terms. At the table sat my best friend Jessica, him (Chris), and me (Lisa). The fourth seat was blank.

I'm sure he saw in my eyes that I was imagining it and getting turned on. Our eyes locked for several seconds before I realized that Jess was staring pointedly at me.

"Um, but my birthday was yesterday," I demurred, brushing him off. It's true; it was. I had turned 22 yesterday. It was his 21st birthday today. Even the adult me felt a bit superior to that, that I was a year and a day older than he was. I also used it as an excuse, the difference in our ages, to not submit to his command.

He appeared disappointed and even a little disgusted that I refused. Inwardly, I cursed myself for being a coward.

When I was eighteen, I read my first spanking story. I knew, at that time, that I wanted to be spanked. By a man. Whether as a prelude to sex or as discipline, I didn't care; I just wanted it.

And I was ashamed of my deepest, darkest secret.

And now, four years later, I was given the perfect opportunity to be a spankee, and what do I do? I chicken out.

The conversation turned general after that. When the time came for us to move on to class, he watched me walk away. I felt his eyes on me, pale blue and piercing, as I turned to wave with a smile and wished him happy birthday again.

When Jess and I separated, studiously avoiding the conversational gambit Chris had mentioned, I collapsed against the wall, blushing furiously.

Two days earlier, Jess and I were on the phone, and his name was mentioned. He had attached himself to our group early in the semester. Chris didn't appear to have many friends. In fact, he appeared the awkward introvert. A nerd. But then, I was a nerd, as well.

We had started calling him "Icky Chris" to distinguish him from a man who had been in one of my classes the semester before.

I think one reason we called him icky was because he stared so hard at me every time he was around, making me extremely uncomfortable.

By no means was I used to masculine attention. As I said, I was a nerd. I was also overweight with overly large boobs, and I tended to hunch over to hide that fact. My hair was dark blonde slowly turning brown, and my eyes behind my glasses were an indeterminate shade of grayish green that I simply called hazel.

To me, the idea that he might be attracted to me was laughable. Until that day.

I went home that night and logged on to the website that was my newest secret obsession. The site was devoted to spanking stories, and I had masturbated to them for months.

Now, as I touched myself as I read, I was the woman draped over Chris's knee or bent over the table or desk with my skirt tossed up and my panties pulled down to my knees, forced to be immobile while he relentlessly spanked, paddled, switched, and caned my ample pale ass.

He became my newest obsession.

I began actively paying attention to his every word and movement.

Before that day, he was on the fringes of our group, someone who would make often inappropriate comments about hot button issues that were so awkward you felt something almost akin to pity for him. I had never singled him out for attention or notice, had never felt we had deep meaningful conversations one-on-one.

But all that changed. The girl who had, throughout middle school and high school, watched as friends and classmates dated and hooked up, while scratching out romantic stories in the library at lunch, now came into my own.

I'm not proud of many of the things I did to attempt garner his attention and favor, but I feel it best to detail what happened.

I was known for arriving early at the lounge, sometimes by seven even if my first class was after 11. I did this to secure an okay parking spot and to get the table. There was only one coveted table in the lounge. And it was unofficially ours.

Now, I was sure to arrive early every day. With baited breath but while trying to appear nonchalant, I would wait to hear his distinctive, almost dragging steps. Then, I would studiously appear studious, reading a book or scribbling in one of my ever-present spiral notebooks.

I took to wearing tight sweater tops and little skirts. I hung on his every word. Oddly enough, we discovered we shared many views. Both of us had grown up in traditional nuclear family backgrounds, and we both wanted the same thing for ourselves one day. Even though we were both children of the 80s, our expectations for family life were deeply grounded in sitcoms of the fifties, in which the husband was the breadwinner who came home to wifey who had done the housekeeping and cleaning but still managed to wear a perfect A-line dress an pearls to make her husband proud when he arrived home at 6 in the evening.

Not that I was at university to receive my MRS. degree. I had lofty career goals that he appeared to respect.

We both had a love of classical and contemporary fantasy literature. We both discovered the Harry Potter books at about the same time. In fact, in his awkwardness, he could have easily been an older version of Harry Potter.

Those hours in the lounge spent talking, just talking, added up. Soon, we were both calling each other friends, but then something happened that twisted things slightly.

Jess had a friend named Valerie who didn't like Chris. They completely rubbed each other the wrong way.

Chris wanted us all to "cut her off." He had espoused that for another friend of Jess's and mine that he had never met. Basically, he wanted us to have nothing to do with either of them—Valerie or our other friend.

I was called upon to be the peacekeeper. Jess was beyond frustrated with the situation by that point, so that left me, in the middle and unable to choose sides.

And part of me worried how I would deal if Chris decided to cut me off.

When I had something deep or difficult to discuss with him (and when the weather allowed it), we would go for walks. Part of this—a huge portion, in fact—was to ensure that he would not pop off a reckless statement (like asking me to bend over for a birthday spanking) in front of the crowded lounge.

I'm not sure, looking back on it now, that this tactic led to any self-preservation on my behalf. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It was during those moments of togetherness where he said some of the most outlandish things to me.

That day, when Jess beseeched, or rather demanded, that I intercede was one such event. Shrouded, partially hidden by the rows of crepe myrtles that flanked the walkway from the liberal arts building to the library, I begged him to be the bigger person, to bury the hatchet, and other trite statements involving Valerie.

At first, he wanted to argue, to accuse me of taking her side. I stood next to him, a few inches shorter, dressed in my little black skirt and cream cable knit sweater, a bit too tight through the boob area, and fired back before he could voice his response: "What do you want, me to get own on my knees and beg you?"

My outburst seemed to hold both of us in suspended animation. At the time, sheltered and virginal as I was, I had never done that, gone down on my knees before a man. But, I knew that mentioning it ranked right up there with his spanking directive for inappropriate behavior.

In the silence that followed, he stared into my eyes, for seconds, minutes, or hours; I couldn't tell you which. I simply knew that I had to backtrack again.

His eyebrow raised, he scanned down my body stopping briefly on my sweater, heaving at my breasts with an intoxicating mix of fear and desire. Meandering further to rest his eyes on the shorter than normal hemline of my skirt, he smiled slightly, that challenging glint in his eyes, and looked back up into my greenish-gray orbs, still mute with shock.

Lips that were thinly spread in a form of amusement I can only classify as cruel parted to form words, sounds, that could never be taken back.

Finally finding my voice, I rushed to elaborate. "I would do it, if simply to keep the peace—beg you, I mean."

Despite the chill of the first bite of autumn, causing the shift from skimpier shorts and tees to sweaters and, for Chris, his ever-present tan leather jacket that always seemed to remind me of a large overstuffed leather easy chair in a British lord's library or study, I felt heat flood my face. Without looking, I was sure that, from my eyes to my chin, my normally pale skin was fuchsia or even crimson.

He appeared to consider my offer. With a smirk, he looked knowingly in my eyes as he came to a decision.

Please, please don't make me drop down to my knees in front of you I pleaded to him with my eyes.

But another part, the core of me that was responsible for my pussy leaking onto my panties, dampening them, reveled in an additional show of his cruelty, his sadistic streak. Please, please, please make me kneel before you, that partition of me seemed determined to speak.

By now, I had branched out from run-of-the-mill spanking stories to full-on BDSM textual porn. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, what that entailed.

At the last second, he relented. We both heard—and saw—people coming up the walkway toward us, so we veered to the right, making a loop to head back to the liberal arts building. No words were spoken until we neared the lounge again. And, this time, he broke the silence.

"For you, I'll do it; I'll keep the peace, I mean."

"For me?" My heart began to trip hammer and a blush warmed me almost to a fever point.

He nodded. "For you. I wouldn't do it for anyone else in that lounge, Lisa, not Jess and certainly not Valerie. You're the leader of us, the lounge lizards, the one around whom we all revolve."

I was stunned into silence. Words jammed up in my brain, but I could not give voice to them. Following Chris in to the lounge where Jess awaited the results of my semi-self-imposed mission, all I could manage was a tight smile and a nod.

Chris, by contrast, entered the room gregariously, as if nothing had ever been wrong, as if nothing momentous ha just happened outdoors.

But, I felt bereft and knew that nothing would be the same again. He walked me to my next class. As I smiled at him in farewell, still on autopilot until I was alone and could sort out my emotions, Chris handed me a slip of paper with seven digits. A phone number. "Yours?" I asked, still not able to comprehend everything.

"Mine. Write yours on this slip of paper," he directed, and just like that, I did, as if in a trance. "See you tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. He loped off down the hall, whistling.

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Let me know if you think I should continue. I warn you: the interlude with "Chris" did not end happily. My BDSM journey has "ended" happily, however.