The Slap 2

I've never been much of a rebel. A responsible adult from approximately 11 years of age, I never thought much about rules, because doing the right thing was just, well, what I did. Wolf's and my relationship has been that of Dominant and submissive right from the start, but we've always been pretty easy going about it, and the only rule he had ever enforced was one that was very important to him. I am never to criticize myself. I am his, and speaking badly of myself insults not just me, but his judgment for choosing me.

All relationships evolve, however, and ours is no different. Wolf knows me better than anyone ever has, and in fact, sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself. We'd been talking about structure, and he'd decided that our upcoming road trip was the perfect chance to change things up a bit. He thought I needed more discipline and order, and the way my heart raced every time I thought of the new arrangement seemed to indicate that he was right.

There were only four simple rules, and he made me write them out clearly for him.

• No getting on the furniture without his express permission, even in public.

• I was not allowed to move more than a few paces away from him without asking.

• No going potty without permission, even it meant waking him in the middle of the night.

• Absolutely no touching him intimately without asking first.

We'd had to modify this last rule almost immediately, as he began by saying I couldn't touch him at all without permission. The easy intimacy of skin on skin is as important to him as it is to me, though, and he didn't want to create a barrier to that closeness. My least favorite rule was amended before we even left home, much to my relief.

The consequences for breaking a rule were simple. At a word from him, I would present myself, kneel, pull back my hair and close my eyes. He would slap my face; not hard enough to injure me, but enough to get my attention. I know a lot of women are turned on by being slapped, but I've never been one of them. It's jarring and a little frightening, and I was horrified to think that he might do it to me in public. When I tried to get him to promise he wouldn't, his answer was simple.

"That's entirely up to you, Pet. If you follow the rules, I won't have to."

Difficult to argue with that kind of logic, although I've been known to try it. The more I thought about the rules, though, the more I realized that he was right, and I wanted that order in our lives. He made me memorize them, and think about them often, so that by the time we left for our trip, they'd be second nature. Both of us had taken vacation time, so there weren't many distractions, and I knew that on the few occasions we were in public, I would be extra conscious of being on my best behavior.

Our need for each other that first morning had been so intense that we'd barely made it an hour down the road before we'd had to find a deserted road and release that pressure. He'd come around to my side of the truck, pulled me out into the snow, and bent me over the seat. His pocket knife had dispensed with my panties easily, and he took me roughly, with no build-up whatsoever. We'd both been ready for days. We climaxed together in an embarrassingly short time, and then laughed at ourselves for behaving like teenagers. Before we got back on the road, Wolf, never missing a good opportunity to scout for toys, cut a couple of nice willow branches from alongside the road. One for us, and one to share.

We try not to make too many rigid plans for the special occasions when we are able to get away together, preferring spontaneity and relaxation to schedules and sharing each other with the outside world. On this trip, though, we had plans for the very first night, and I had a hurdle to clear. We were meeting friends for dinner, since our route to Florida took us within a few miles of their house. They were also in a D/s relationship, and we all got along well enough, but I was painfully aware that this would be the first test of my ability to follow the new rules. The fact that she was 15 years my junior, with a very nice body, didn't much help my mood. Their directions weren't the best, traffic was bad, and by the time we reached the restaurant a half hour late, I just wanted it to be over with.

Since it was their town, they had picked the restaurant. It was packed, and noisy; almost impossible to hear each other across the table. That calmed my nerves a little, as it became quickly obvious that it was difficult enough for Wolf to hear me, let alone our friends. I followed the rules impeccably, waiting for permission to sit at the table, and asking to be allowed to visit the ladies' room. The second time I came back to the table, shortly before we left, he left me standing by my chair for what seemed like forever. To this day, I'm not sure whether he was just caught up in conversation, or wanted me to have extra time to reflect on the rights that I had happily surrendered.

Dinner was fairly short, as we wanted to get further down the road before we stopped. We bid them a fond farewell in the parking lot, with Wolf giving them the extra switch he'd cut, and all four of us laughing about the good use they'd be put to. It was cold out, so we didn't linger long, promising to write and jumping back into our vehicles. I breathed a sigh of relief to be alone with him again, but his voice was quite patient as he asked the question.

"Forget something, Pet?"

I hung my head miserably for a moment, then raised it and pulled my hair back. I had indeed climbed into the truck without asking. He slapped my face briskly, then held it with both hands, and kissed me gently.

"I was very proud of you tonight, and you only forgot to ask permission this once. That's my good girl."

I basked in his praise even as I rubbed my cheek. I had survived my first slap, and it wasn't any big deal. In the back of my mind, though, I knew that it wouldn't feel the same in public. It had been a long day, and we didn't stop for the night until a couple of hours later. I had assumed that we'd just collapse in bed, but the fresh cut switch was a siren call to us both. When I emerged from the shower, all it took was one look at his face and I knew my fate, even before I noticed the switch in his hand.

"Bend over the bed, Pet."

I know the look and the tone, but it's so hard to resist gazing into his eyes for just a moment. My heart starts to pound and my breathing gets ragged every single time, even though this is by now familiar and beloved ground for us. Almost in slow motion, I crossed the room, never breaking eye contact, and stood before him. Unable to suppress a small shiver at the calm implacability I saw, I turned and bent over the bed as instructed. Waiting is always the hardest part, and Wolf knows it all too well. He trailed the switch along the length of my body lazily, happy to watch me squirm and wonder when the first lash would come.

When it did, the pain took my breath away. The thinnest canes are the worst. He was relentless, though, and the switch struck my bottom and thighs more times than I could count. Completely unable to hold still, I writhed about, torn between the need to get away and the need for the release that the pain brings. He finally discarded the switch, grabbed my striped, throbbing cheeks, and pushed inside me roughly, the gush of juices created by the spanking aiding his entry. I arched my back to meet him, now desperate for climax.

"Slow down, my Pet" he whispered in my ear.

"We've got all night, and you can't cum until I allow it, anyway."

Long, slow, deep strokes nearly drove me insane, but finally, knowing his own orgasm was imminent, Wolf gave me permission. My whole body shook from the desire that had been building all day, and he filled me with his seed before collapsing on top of me.

Sleep came quickly for him, but it eluded me, in spite of the incredibly long day. Instead, I lay reflecting on the difference between spanking and slapping. How could I love one so much, and find the other so jarring and uncomfortable? The two actions are really basically the same; skin striking skin. Spanking has always been a sexual trigger for me, though, and immediately makes me wet and ready. Slapping just seemed like an indignity. There are few things that so instantly remind me of my place in the middle of a vanilla moment, but I just couldn't shake the fear of having people stare and whisper.

For the most part, I was a very good girl during the trip, with the specter of the slap always lurking. There were a few bumps in the road, of course, but I love the reminders that I've surrendered the right to choose. My few transgressions were mostly in private, and if our surroundings were too public and vanilla, he would either pinch me hard, or take my face roughly in his hands, forcing eye contact, and putting me abruptly back in my place.

Grocery shopping was a pretty notable exception. I had been well behaved inside the store, but got distracted by a blog post while Wolf stowed the bags inside the motorcycle's storage compartments. He was donning his gear and almost ready to go, but I was a million miles away, and thinking only about the post I was writing, staring at my phone.

"I'm just about ready to go, Pet" he announced impatiently.

"And that affects me how?"

For those of you new to D/s, I'll give you some advice. Blurting out the first smart-ass remark that comes into your head, while not paying attention to your Dom, is ill advised. Wolf grabbed me by the neck, bent me over the bike seat, and paddled my ass hard. The parking lot was full, any number of people saw him putting me back on the path, and my cheeks burned with shame. I would be less than truthful, though, if I didn't admit that my panties were markedly damp when he allowed me to climb onto the seat behind him.

All too soon the last few days of our trip arrived, and it was time for the rope workshop we'd scheduled. It was being held at a dungeon we'd frequented before, and we both felt very comfortable there. The first time we'd visited I'd been petrified - sure that mine was the only imperfect body, and that I'd be so self conscious I wouldn't be able to enjoy myself. Wolf had assured me that wouldn't be the case, and as usual, he was annoyingly right. The lights were dim, the music loud, and everyone was mostly involved in their own scene, unashamedly baring their ordinary bodies. When Wolf held out his hand to lead me to the overhead shibari supports, I took it and never thought twice.

The club's home was warehouse space, with 20 ft ceilings, and two separate play rooms. There was a seating area for conversation and after care, and then distinct play areas around the huge interior of both rooms. There was a kickoff party the first night, with a packed house, attended by the presenters and students alike. It was the most people I'd ever seen there, and it was a little intimidating. I would have been quite content just to watch other people's scenes, but it wasn't long before Wolf dragged a spanking bench over to our corner of the room, and gestured for me to climb on.

I protested weakly at his placement of the bench, which had my bottom facing the room, but an objection is not a safe word, and he paid me little attention. My complaint was a little louder when he pulled down my panties, but by this time he'd tied me to the bench, and I knew that I was wasting my breath. The final outrage came when he pulled off one of my sandals to use as a paddle. I felt exactly like a naughty schoolgirl, but he spanked my bottom so hard that I could barely walk afterwards, and I didn't give another thought to the other people in the room. Even though the whipping had already brought me to orgasm, the only thing on my mind was getting him back to the hotel so that he could fuck me senseless.

The first day of classes was different. As different as night and day, to be exact. The cavernous industrial space was brightly lit, and I was free to look around the room, albeit surreptitiously, at all of our classmates. Lust is a great deal like rose-colored glasses, but today it was hard to deny what I'd probably noticed the night before. While there still plenty of imperfect bodies, every single woman there was at least 20 years younger than me. Most of them peeled easily out of their shirts and bras, and I had to fight the urge to grab my things and run.

I am Wolf's property, but also his lover and friend. He sensed my terror, and allowed me to remain dressed for the first few classes. I'd worn a black tank top, though, and most of our rope was black as well, making it difficult for him to see the knots. He finally tired of the effort, and announced that it was time for me to take off my shirt. I whimpered softly, and begged him to reconsider, but his only reply was to gently pull my top over my head and unhook my bra.

A half hour before, we'd been laughing and joking with the young couple next to us. We women were tied in an elaborate configuration of knots called the rice bale, which culminated in a complete lack of control. Wolf pushed me around on the floor like a rolled up rug, and I sputtered obscenities and threats which the husband smilingly pointed out that I was quite incapable of. Once my shirt and bra came off, though, that camaraderie was lost for me. Most men would tell you that there is only one kind of naked, but women know better. My clothing had been a defensive layer, and now I felt like a turtle without its shell.

I made it through the rest of the class somehow, trying desperately to concentrate on the ropes, on Wolf's face, or the number of tiles in the ceiling. Anything but looking around the room at the younger women, wondering how many of them were looking back at me, trying to figure out why a woman my age was there in the first place. When the class finally ended, I asked for and received permission to put my shirt and bra back on, although Wolf's face was sad when he granted it.

He pulled me closer and gestured discretely towards a woman across the room from us.

"I think your breasts are easily as nice as hers, Pet."

"Yes, Sir, but you love me. And you have low standards."

Wolf threw back his head and laughed long and hard, and I smiled with him. The slap across my cheek came completely out of the blue, and was followed by another, just as hard, on the other cheek.

I had been sitting on a low bench beside him, but I fell to my knees instantly, reaching for him, burying my face in his chest. He held me in his arms, rocking me, and kissed the top of my head. Conversations around us resumed as the couples beside us went back to packing their ropes - nothing to see here - and we were alone in that crowded room as he held me against his body, and finally lifted me from my knees for a kiss before handing me a length of rope to wrap and pack.

"Why, Sir? Why twice?" I whimpered, my voice barely audible.

"Because, Pet, you broke our oldest rule. You are my prized possession, and I will not let you criticize my property. Your soul is beautiful, and your body just a vessel for it. Skin is just a way for souls to kiss and know love."

It wasn't until a few days later that I realized that I had not questioned his right to slap me, and that I never gave one single thought to the roomful of people that had witnessed it. My only question was what I had done to deserve it. I had been so afraid of being slapped in public. How could I have forgotten that the intensity of the emotions we share makes the rest of the world fade away?