Chapter 6

Kitty

I watched the cane fall again and again onto Penny’s bottom, which was now laced with angry red stripes. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off the spectacle. I barely registered what I said to Astrid. 

I just watched the rod fly and Penny screech. Jen seemed to be putting her whole arm into it. And even with my complete lack of knowledge of the practice, I felt confident in my assessment that it was a very skilful swing. She seemed to know where to place each stroke exactly, working down Penny’s backside, onto her thighs, and back up again. Her last stroke let out a crescendo of a CRACK which left both participants panting from the effort. 

I was breathing heavily right along with them, my skin cold from sweat. I leaned into Astrid’s possessive arm as Jen released Penny from the horse and pulled her into an embrace. Penny was smiling, mascara caked and running down her cheeks from tears. Jen held her tight and whispered something into her ear, her cane hanging from her elbow by her side. They waved to the audience and retreated into a corner where Jen started to tend to the welted birthday girl. 

The rest of the evening was a blur. Astrid suggested we continue our tour around the club but as we did, I was distracted by the caning I had just witnessed as well as the dawning realisation I had asked Astrid to do something similar to me. 

I was shocked at myself. 

Did I really want her to spank me? 

And what had she meant that she takes spanking seriously? 

And why had that made me want it more?

Later, I couldn’t remember the names of the people Astrid introduced me to but I did remember what they were doing. Like the woman with a harness binding her collar and arms together in an intricate pattern, who was wandering through the club greeting everyone cheerfully. Or another on all fours being used as a footstool and having her hind quarters occasionally flicked lazily with a whip. 

It was a kaleidoscope. 

And quite overwhelming. 

Perhaps Astrid noticed, because she bade us leave early to go back to her place. I agreed quickly and we waved a few goodbyes.

“Now that we’re out of the club,” Astrid said as we retrieved our outerwear from the cloakroom, ”you don’t need to call me ‘Miss’ anymore.” 

“Oh bugger,” I was aghast as she helped me on with my coat, “I’m sorry, I’ve been forgetting to do that all night.”

Astrid smiled softly, “Yes you have.”

I looked down, embarrassed.

“It’s alright,” she said as she turned me round to face her, “I wasn’t going to tell you off for it tonight. I wanted you to try it out and see how it felt.”

“It felt good,” I admitted as I picked up my scarf and went to wrap it around my neck, “but it also feels bad I didn’t do it properly.”

“Well,” Astrid nudged my hands gently out the way to take over tying my scarf into an elaborate knot, “I’m glad to hear that, but don’t beat yourself up about it. We can talk about it when we get home.”

I blushed, remembering what else was on the agenda. Astrid finished dressing me to her satisfaction and gave me her arm to walk out into the street.

“We can catch a couple different buses from here, but perhaps we’ll take the closest stop, even if it might be a longer wait,” Astrid suggested, before explaining, “You seem a bit tired on your feet in those heels.”

“I’m really not used to them,” I winced, “This last week is the most I’ve ever worn them.”

“Closest it is then,” she guided me to a nearby bus stop.

“Join me,” she patted the spot next to her as she sat on the plastic little bench. I gratefully got off my feet. The heels really weren’t high, but they still made my toes and calves ache. 

“How do you wear these every day?”

“Practice,” she looked down at her own feet, which featured narrow stiletto heels that would snap my ankles instantly were I foolhardy enough to ever totter onto them, “I’ve worn heels every day for as long as I could choose to.”

I sat in silence until I realised I was perving pretty hard on her legs. I looked up guiltily. 

“Like what you see?” she teased. 

“I…, well, yes,” I swallowed, “Your legs are delightful.”

Astrid crossed them dramatically, so that her coat fell open at the waist, exposing her thighs. 

“Why thank you,” she purred, “I do my best.”

The bus pulled up as I was giggling and I guided us towards the back of the lower deck. It was a habit, to hide as best I could on public transport, especially if I was with a girl. I wondered if Astrid felt the same or noticed me doing it. She seemed nonchalant as she sat on the short bench next to me. 

“Just a few stops,” she looked out the window as the bus pulled away. 

I glanced around at the few other passengers. 

“I really don’t know the area much,” I admitted.

“It’s nice,” Astrid said proudly, “I know it has a rough reputation, Dalston, but it is lovely. It has the best fucking food and I adore the community.”

“I’m also really lucky,” she added, casually placing a hand on my leg so I couldn’t help glance around, “being able to have my own little flat in the coop.”

She turned to me and lifted her hand.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Um,” I shook my head, “It’s just I get a little nervous, you know, in public.”

Astrid looked around, “I don’t think anyone here cares and I must admit, I’m a little bit of the fuck ‘em mindset.”

I smiled nervously and tried to relax into her for the rest of the trip. As we stepped off the bus, Astrid waved to the driver and called out, “Thank you!”; a habit of hers I would come to realise, and one I found very endearing. 

“I’m not sure you saw much of the gaybourhood when you were her last,” Astrid said cheerily, waving an arm around to the houses as if presenting The Merry Old Land of Oz. 

“It’s delightful.”

“I know it doesn’t look it, but many of these houses contain the finest of queerest queers you might ever have the pleasure to queer with.”

I chuckled at the thought, “They’re all part of the co-op?”

“Most of them,” Astrid motioned to the houses as we walked to hers and down the stairs, “and queers live in a lot of them.”

We walked into her flat and I noted everything was as before, impeccably neat.

“I’m going to slip into something more comfortable,” Astrid hung up her coat and then mine, “Perhaps you would like to make us some tea?”

There was a tone of instruction to her question.

“Sure,” I moved towards the kitchen.

“You’ll find a kettle on the counter and some mugs in the cupboard above the sink. Milk’s in the fridge,” she disappeared into the bedroom. 

Standing alone, in Astrid’s domain, it occurred that by focusing on getting here and chatting on the bus, I had managed to forget what it was we planned to talk about once there. 

Starting to sweat again, I stepped into the small kitchen. I filled the stained kettle and as it boiled, I opened the cupboard to find an eclectic mix of mugs, cups, and glasses. I was struck by how non-uniform they were. I would have thought, like the rest of the flat, Astrid’s crockery would have been as neat and tidy. But instead, I was met by tall and short mismatched glasses, what looked like pub pint jars, and an eclectic selection of tea mugs of different colours and prints. I noticed only two tea cups matched and also had saucers. 

I went for the cosier mugs, choosing a white one with a watercolour country scene on the side and a pink one with “The Queen of Fucking Everything” printed in bold letters. I managed to make up the two mugs with tea bags I found in a pot by the kettle and added what felt like a reasonable amount of milk to both; worrying I had made it too weak or too strong for her. 

I carried the mugs into the living room as Astrid also returned, with her corset removed, her fancy blouse replaced with a simpler white open-collared shirt and her pencil skirt with an equally black but more flared one. Her step clicked from a pair of heels not dissimilar to the ones I had taken off as we came in. It certainly wasn’t an outfit I would have chosen to lounge in.

“More comfortable?” I ventured, as she sat on the sofa.

“Much,” she smiled at me, “Come, sit.”

I put the mugs on the table in front of us and sat, still finding the manouvre awkward with the dress. The skirt rode up and I tried to nonchalantly pull it down but somehow managed to make it worse. 

“You really don’t wear dresses much do you?”

“Not since school,” I admitted, “I hated those pinafores.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Astrid consoled, picking up the pink mug and smiling, “Good choice.”

I picked up my own as Astrid closed her eyes and sipped. I watched, breathlessly. 

She lowered her mug and opened her eyes. 

“Mmmm, that hits the spot.”

I took a sip of my own, but kept looking at Astrid, who was returning my gaze over the rim of her mug. 

We sat in silence. 

A lump developed in my throat followed by a swirl in my stomach. 

“So…”

“Yeah…” I took another sip because I just didn’t know what else to do. 

“I suppose we have a couple things to talk about.”

“Yeah…” I repeated.

She looked at me calmly, seeming quite comfortable. All I wanted to do was squirm. 

“I guess first things first,” Astrid took the lead, “Did you have a good time tonight?”

“Oh yes,” I relaxed, grateful for the more innocuous question, “I mean, I really liked it.”

“I’m glad,” she said, “It was a bit wilder than I was expecting, but that seemed to be… inspirational?”

My cheeks flushed and I raised the cup to my lips again to buy time.

“Well…” I gulped the hot tea, “I suppose, maybe, yes.”

Astrid tipped her head. 

“I mean,” I exhaled, “I don’t know. I was surprised, but also… I’m embarrassed to say.”

“I understand,” Astrid’s expression was kind, “Take your time. But it’s important that you say what you’re feeling and what you want.”

I nodded but remained silent.

“I told you, I feel like we have this connection.”

Astrid paused and looked to the side as if deciding something before looking at me again.

“I honestly thought to try to keep some semblance of…”

Astrid stopped again and looked into the room.

“I wanted to dominate you properly,” she said finally and my stomach lurched.

With a pained expression, she turned to look at me again, “But I can’t give into those impulses without knowing what you want. So, as hard as it is for you, I want you to say it.”

My heart was in my mouth, which also felt bone dry.

“I want you to spank me,” I said and couldn’t believe the words had come from me. 

Astrid’s expression didn’t change.

“Okay,” she said simply, “that is something I could do.”

I nodded. 

“But I want to talk about it first,” she recrossed her legs and leaned into the armrest. She sipped her tea before placing her mug quite deliberately onto the table. 

“Do you remember what I said about Dominance? That some people role-play it. But I want a real power exchange?”

I nodded, listening intently.

“It’s the same with spanking,” she explained, “What you saw tonight with Penny, that was more like play. And that is how she likes it. She’s a bottom, not a submissive.”

“Whereas, for me,” she hesitated, “Well… spanking is another kind of exchange. Like obedience. I spank someone who consents to my power over them. But also… for me it’s more than that too.”

Astrid paused, perhaps to allow me to process.

“What do you mean?” my curiosity exceeded my nervousness. 

“For me spanking is discipline.” 

I think I stopped breathing when she said the word ‘discipline.’ 

“I deplore non-consensual spanking,” Astrid continued, “but in a consensual relationship, it can be used to guide the submissive, build and maintain trust and boundaries, and express what is given and received.”

My heart was pounding, so it took a moment to realise Astrid had stopped. 

“Does any of this make sense, Kitty?” she asked with a deep furrow to her brow. 

“Actually yes,” I tried to pull myself together, “I think it really does.”

I rested one elbow on the sofa-back and ran a hand through my hair. I don’t know why I was trying to play it cool.

“Um,” I asked shakily, “Do you mean you spank as a punishment?”

“Sometimes,” Astrid replied, “if it’s been agreed upon. But mostly I use it to maintain the relationship, establish a rule, or remind a submissive of her place.”

“I think I understand,” I managed to get out, my heart racing and my mind running just as fast.

“I’m glad,” Astrid answered stiffly.

“It’s not a game?” I asked.

“No.”

“It’s real.” I said, partly a statement and partly a question. 

“Yes.” 

“How do we start?”

We might have both been shocked again by my boldness. 

“Well,” Astrid answered, wide-eyed but gathering herself quickly, “I suppose we could try a little.”

She seemed insecure again. 

“Yes,” I tried to answer as earnestly as I could, “I mean… yes… please.”

“Okay…” Astrid said and then repeated, “… okay.”

She looked around the room before uncrossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap. 

“Very well,” her tone and bearing shifted, “then here are the rules.”

Her uncertainty melted away. She seemed so confident and together, and I found myself sitting up straighter. 

“I will spank you with my hand.” 

I nodded.

”It will not be more than you can take, but it will hurt and you will be sore afterwards.”

I tried to take in what she was saying. 

“Okay,” the lump in my throat constricted my voice. 

“You will obey me throughout,” Astrid continued, “from beginning to end. But you can stop at any time by saying stop.”

Astrid was reiterating the choice I had in this, which felt good but at the same time strangely unwelcome.

“Okay,” I said again.

“This is the most important part,” she said firmly, “If it feels bad in any way, you say stop. I need to trust you in this. I don’t play with resistance, so stop means stop.”

“Okay,” I answered for a third time. 

Astrid looked around the room again before she stood. I made a move to as well but she motioned to stay put. 

I sat back down as I watched her walk into the kitchen in silence. 

My mind raced again. 

What would it be like? 

Was I scared? 

Or excited? 

I’d never been spanked before. 

It didn’t quite feel like excitement. 

But was it really dread? 

She said it was going to hurt. 

What would that be like?

Astrid returned with a kitchen chair and placed it in the middle of the room between the sofa and the tv. She sat down and adjusted herself. 

She seemed serious. Stern. Certainly calm. 

Also… in control.

Astrid laid her hands in her lap and looked at me.

“You will be over my knee.”

I flushed as I answered, “Yes.”

“And we will talk after,” she stated in a way that brooked no discussion nor disagreement.

”Yes.” 

“Do you remember how to address me?” 

“Yes, Miss,” I swallowed hard. 

“Good,” she shifted in her seat again, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Miss,” my skin prickled all over. 

“Then, we will begin,” she said in the same deliberate tone had she used with me in the park, “As before, you will obey me from now until I say stop or you do. Otherwise, you will do everything I say and address me correctly throughout.”

I sat silently, my hands numb and my breath shallow.

“If you misbehave,” she continued, “I will reprimand you.”

I nodded, feeling the cold sweat on the back of my neck keenly. 

“I take discipline very seriously,” she looked into me, “It is real. It is supposed to make you feel something I hope will ultimately be pleasurable. But you will be receiving a spanking, so, you will also feel pain.”

I was paralysed, but tried to nod as clearly as I could. 

“Now,” she commanded, “Come here and bend over.”

That was the first time Astrid spanked me. 

It was transcendent. 

And a cavalcade of contradiction. 

It was firm but gentle. Sharp yet soft. Arousing and calming. It made me ache in so many ways. I burned and felt held, wanted and wanting. And also profoundly at peace.

Astrid

Sitting on the sofa, she shocked me for the second time that night by asking so earnestly to be spanked. Despite seeing her reaction to Penny’s caning, our experience in the park, and the almost overwhelming sense that she was, and wanted to be, submissive… when she actually said it, the final cog clicked into place. 

My heart was in my mouth as I walked into the kitchen. It was hardly my first time spanking someone, but this time felt different. Perhaps because it was Kitty’s first time. But maybe also, because… it just felt different. 

I collected the chair, tried to calm myself and present as in control.

I sat in the middle of the living room, not looking at Kitty, trying to collect myself and my thoughts. I rearranged my skirt a few times and wondered if I chose it unconsciously as it lay better on a chair. 

I looked up to see Kitty sitting almost rigid on my sofa. 

I felt such a softness for her. 

She looked like a frightened rabbit. 

At the same time, I thought I could see a burning in her eyes. 

I adjusted once more and began to speak. I heard my voice almost at a distance, stating my rules. I felt that familiar stiffness in my spine as I continued to instruct. Kitty replied so properly but seemed as terrified as I was. 

I exhaled and asked if she was ready.

“Yes, Miss,” she said so perfectly I could eat her up. 

I gave my speech on discipline, which is so important to me. Other Dominants spank and whip for all sorts of reasons. But for me, it was always about the rush of being in control. The giving of pain and having it received willingly. Watching the girl quiver and moan and surrender. 

I ordered her over my lap.

“Yes, Miss,” Kitty stood and walked to me on what looked like very shaky legs. 

I wanted to comfort her. But I knew I needed to hold the space rigidly. So I guided her gently over my lap. 

Kitty perched there on tiptoe, her hands stretched to the floor, and her bottom arched perfectly upwards. I laid a hand on her back to keep her from sliding off and lifted her dress up over her back with the other. I rolled down her underwear, noting briefly their plainness as I guided them around her ankles and onto the floor. Her cheeks exposed, I caressed her a while longer, revelling in her pink soft skin. 

Okay, Mistress, I tried to gird myself.

Taking a deep breath I pressed her more firmly down, raised my right hand, and brought it down swiftly. 

Kitty shuddered as my palm made sharp contact with her bottom. I brought it down just as hard again and her breath escaped her. I raised my hand once more, noticed her anticipating it, so held a moment longer before bringing it down with a loud crack. This time she gasped and I left my hand where it landed to feel the heat rise beneath it. 

I began to spank more rhythmically. Kitty lurched with each stroke in unison with me. A warm pink glow blossomed on each cheek as I moved around the fullness of her bottom to make sure no one spot became too tender. My breath was heavy and short, and the hairs on my neck rose along with my heart rate. Kitty’s gasps and whimpers became more pronounced and I knew we were coming close to her edge. 

I was synchronised with her. 

Connected and in a perfectly complimentary choreograph. 

Kitty’s backside shone bright as I slowed and gently slid my tender palm over the heat of her skin. 

I caressed a while longer before leaning over to whisper, “You are a very good girl.”

Kitty sighed in response and I melted. 

I lowered the skirt of her dress and tried to signal gently that her spanking was over. She lay limp in my lap. I laid my hand on her back and cupped her bottom in the other. 

“Come girl, I think we should sit and cuddle.”

Kitty moved stiffly as I guided her to stand beside me, her eyes cast down. I stood and wrapped my arm around her waist. I walked her to the sofa and had her lie with me there. 

Kitty’s head rested under my chin and I stroked her arms and back. As I did, I felt a wetness spread on my chest. I looked down to see gentle tears rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t look distressed. 

I closed my eyes and felt for her breath, which was slow and calm. 

I breathed with her. 

It was perfect.

After what felt like an age, Kitty stirred. I opened my eyes and looked down. Her tears had stopped and she craned her head to look up at me. 

“That was…”  

“Shh. You don’t need to explain.”

She looked at me with those big eyes, “I feel so calm.” 

She paused again. 

“And I was so emotional right after, like I was crying, but not because of the pain.” 

I stroked her arm.

“And the pain, it felt like it was releasing something. Like I could just let go.”

A sob escaped her chest.

“And I did,” she said shakily and another tear rolled, “I felt like I could really… actually… let go.”

I held her close and inhaled the soft musk of her hair. She cried a while longer before I lifted us out of the sofa and into the bedroom. She didn’t say anything as we walked together, but wore an intoxicating serene smile. 

Once by the bed, I lifted her dress gently over her shoulders and tossed it to one side so she stood naked in just her collar. 

I had to stop myself staring and instead wrapped my arm around her back to guide her onto the bed. Kitty lay on her side, her easy smile still apparent. I stripped off my blouse and skirt, and draped them on the chair. She watched me take off my underwear and slip into bed next to her. 

I gathered her up again. 

“It was…” she whispered, “so much more than I imagined. I kind of just… wanted it… at the club. And I had no idea why. I feel so soft and calm and…” 

Kitty took a breath, “Yours.”

I tried to lie still and not overreact from the rush of blood, energy, and adrenaline all at once. 

Mine?

“And how does that feel?” I tried to stay the tremor in my chest. 

“Wonderful,” she breathed, “Does it always feel like that? I mean, I expected it to hurt, and well, it really did. But it also made me feel… wonderful.”

“Shit, now I’m just repeating myself,” she laughed. 

“I hope so,” I tried to explain as neutrally as possible, “I mean, it can, or should, feel like that to submit to someone.”

She was silent and I wondered if she’d fallen asleep, lying still and breathing so easily. 

“And you like to dominate someone all the time in your relationships?” 

The question cut me to the core.

“Yes,” I said without reservation. 

“Do you want that with me?” 

I couldn’t speak at first. 

I was about to lie or turn the question back on her, but then, I couldn’t. 

“I would like that very much.”

My stomach and jaw locked as a frigid terror gripped my chest.

“I suppose we could try a little,” she turned my words back on me. 

For a moment I thought she was being sarcastic. Or mean. 

But I didn’t detect a hint of either when I looked down on her and saw her looking up at me with wide open eyes. 

“We can,” I tried to manage a storm of anxiety and elation, “talk about it in the morning.”

She murmured something and snuggled even closer, shutting her eyes again. 

I lay with her like that as she fell asleep. 

I stroked the soft part of her hair. 

She wants to try submitting properly. And… I really want her to.

I needed to talk to Jen. 

I twisted round, trying not to disturb Kitty. Like she was an actual cat who had adorably fallen asleep in my lap. I almost laughed out loud at the comparison. 

I managed to reach the mobile without popping my shoulder out and fumbled my arms around Kitty’s head to type.

Jen, need emergency consult re Kitty

Ooo, shall I call or come round, where R U?, came her quick reply.

I paused to wonder what was too much to share, _Right now in bed with Kitty sleeping on my tit after spanking her arse red_.

0.0! You will tell me all at brunch. What do U need now other than applause and admiration?

She just said she wanted to submit to me properly

Excellent! And what exactly is the problem?

She’s about two weeks into being kinky Jen! I frantically typed back.

You can get her up to speed. I have faith in you.

It feels like I should slow things down. I answered.

Then a long pause before Jen finally wrote back, Sorry, had to put ice on my arm. I think I have tennis elbow from caning Penny.

And then another text quickly followed, Is that a thing? It really hurts. I’m going to have to slap Penny silly next time I see her for that. Obviously with the arm that doesn’t ache.

I waited for the inevitable follow up, Anyway, in answer to your question, fuck that.

I waited for her to elaborate. 

Just fuck that? I wrote when no further comment followed.

Yes. Life is too short. You said yourself, she’s a natural.

I sighed, It’s been a long time.

A moment passed before Jen’s reply arrived, I know. But that is past. And this is now. You’re the cleverest, safest Domme I know. If she really is submissive, then there’s no one better to guide her.

I was touched by the care Jen could show in between the expletives, I mean, you fucking love this shit. Eat her up, Mistress!

Thank you, Jen <3. I replied

Any time. Now go see to that girl of yours. I imagine she will need some breaking in. Har Har :P. P.S. All the details will be req. on Sun.

I tossed the phone in the general direction of the bedside table and hoped I would find some way to sleep.