by Geraldine Hillis
Joanna stood facing the wall of the bedroom, her mind spinning with confused emotions. Some time soon, Graeme would come through the door, and she would be faced with the biggest decision of her life - to accept and stay - or to refuse and go. She leant her forehead against the cool pine panelling, and thought over the events which had led her to this pass.
"Damn!" said Joanna Rutherford, as the screwdriver slipped again and jabbed into her thigh. 'Easy Home-Assembly' it had said on the box. Yeah, right, she thought. Easy if you had a degree in engineering or something. Not so easy if the most constructive thing you'd ever done was build a little square house out of Lego bricks! Why hadn't she just accepted her brother-in-law's offer to come over and do this for her? Pride - that's why. She was a mature, independent twenty-eight year old woman, and she would do this herself!
And do it she did. Two hours and much cursing later she stood back and proudly surveyed the new computer-desk. True, she had a couple of bits left over, but she was pretty sure they weren't important, and the desk seemed steady enough. Tomorrow the computer would arrive, and the prospect filled her with a child-like excitement. She had saved long and hard for this. Steadfastly turning her back on the tempting interest free credit offers, she had gone each week to the building society and deposited her money, denying herself many of life's little luxuries in the process. But it was worth it.
Joanna was even more sure of that the following evening as she looked at the brand new equipment all nicely set up on the brand new desk. Tentatively, she set up her first Internet account.
She was brought back to the present by the sound of Graeme moving around in the living room. Was he really going to punish her as he had said? Could she - would she - submit? Did she want this? That question would have been so easy to answer a year ago, with an unequivocal 'Yes'. But now that the moment had come, she just didn't know any more. Just one year since the night she had typed 'that word' into the Search Engine.
Over the next few weeks Joanna became more confident and competent with her computer skills. She learned that cutting and pasting had nothing to do with scissors; that Spam wasn't just that revolting pink meat that came in a tin, and that wallpaper was more than the flowery stuff that decorated her bedroom. The Net was a source of wonder to her. Information on her favourite rock stars and authors, recipes, hints and tips on everything from gardening to gynaecology - all this at her fingertips. She loved it.
Then came the night she allowed herself to think of something which had always fascinated her - something she kept hidden, knowing it to be strange - even perverted. She'd watched a film earlier, the one where John Wayne had taken Maureen O'Hara over his knee and spanked her - and had felt that familiar twist in her stomach. Of course it wasn't normal to feel like that, but she couldn't help the little flutter of excitement whenever a hero of book or film took a 'firm line' with a woman. Had Mr. D'Arcy spanked Elizabeth, she wondered - and Emma should certainly have gone over Mr. Knightly's lap a few times! Petruchio had actually threatened Kate, 'I swear I'll cuff you if you strike again,' he'd said to her. Even certain words produced in Joanna a quiver of arousal - 'discipline', 'obedience', 'punishment' - ordinary words in everyday conversations which could send shivers through her most intimate parts.
She crossed to the computer. A moment's hesitation, then she did it! 'Spanking' she typed in, and waited. And in that moment her world turned upside down. Good God! There were thousands of people who thought the way she did. Stories, real-life experiences, discussion forums, pictures, catalogues, problem pages - the sheer volume of material astounded her. She read until her head spun and her eyes burned.
That had been the start of it all, she reflected, as she shifted uncomfortably. Her legs and back were stiff, and her shoulder muscles were beginning to ache. How long would Graeme keep her waiting? She hadn't yet removed her panties as he'd ordered; somehow she felt that by not doing so she was clinging to some shred of control or independence. Would she take them off before he came in? Could she show that level of submission? She did not know. Yes, that had been the start. And the next night she'd found the Story Board.
It had been a hellish day at work, made worse by her own tiredness. Lack of sleep had made her irritable, and she knew she'd been snappy with her colleagues and less than polite to her office manager. Still, she had to force herself to make a meal and attend to some necessary chores before switching on the computer and entering once again that magical world where spanking was 'normal.'
'Welcome to this thing we do,' read the introduction, and Joanna was struck by the quaint phrase. She clicked 'Enter'. Immediately she was transported to a realm beyond her wildest imaginings. Tales of men spanking wives and girlfriends abounded - some were light-hearted, others serious; there were contemporary settings, those set in historical times, even futuristic ones; short stories, long stories, serials, poems, parodies, on-going threads - and comments. These, as much as the stories themselves, intrigued her. People praised each other's work. Disagreements were few, and those that did occur were conducted with civility and good humour. 'All contributions welcome,' it said. Could she write this kind of thing, she wondered?
Within a week her first story was completed, and with some trepidation, she sent it off. It was strange to see her own work on the screen. In less than two hours the first responses appeared - 'Welcome' 'Nice story' 'Hope you write more' 'Good to have you here.' Thus encouraged, she began to contribute regularly.
Then the email arrived - the one with the address she didn't recognise.
If only she hadn't answered it, she thought to herself as she stared at the wall. If she'd just ignored it, she wouldn't be here now, stomach in knots, legs shaking. This was ridiculous! She was a grown woman; she had no need to be doing this. Joanna half turned, intending to storm through to the living room and tell Graeme exactly that, but something - she didn't quite know what - stopped her. She faced the wall again. What had she been thinking about? Oh yes - the email.
Hello Joanna
This is Graeme from the Story Board. I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. I wanted to say how much I enjoy your stories, and I wondered if you might consent to co-write a piece with me. I would consider it an honour, but of course I shall understand if you would rather not, or you cannot spare the time.
Please email me, and let me know your thoughts on the matter.
Regards
Graeme
Joanna read the mail in astonishment. Graeme was a terrific writer of spanking stories. She devoured his work avidly, and he wanted to write with her! Wow! She wrote back - yes, she would be delighted to collaborate with him. Within a few weeks they were an accepted 'double-act' on the Board. They communicated regularly, at first by email, and eventually she gave him her telephone number, that they might discuss their current story-lines more easily.
It transpired that they lived only about a hundred and fifty miles apart, and after about three months, she suggested tentatively that they might meet. Whether she was more pleased or terrified when he agreed, was hard to say.
Joanna arranged a week's holiday from work, booked her train ticket and hotel, and travelled south to Durham. Having unpacked and settled into her room, she lifted the phone, and with fingers which were unaccountably shaking, punched in Graeme's number. He answered at once, and after a minute or two of rather stilted conversation, gave her directions to the restaurant where he had reserved a table for lunch. They had agreed on lunch for a first meeting. That way, should they find they didn't like one another, or either was uncomfortable for any reason, they could part after an hour, and never have to meet again.
She dressed carefully. From his writing and his conversations, she had gathered that he liked women to be very feminine. Jeans, therefore, were out. She opted instead for a suit in peach silk, the skirt of which flared slightly to knee level, the jacket fitting nicely over her slender curves. Now - underwear - not that he'd be seeing any of that, of course. She was taking sensible precautions, and she wasn't about to go anywhere alone with this man till she knew him a bit better. But still, something white and lacy seemed in order and she chose accordingly.
Ten minutes before the appointed time, she arrived at the restaurant. "Would madam care for a drink?" asked the waiter, after he had escorted her to a quiet corner table. Oh God, yes! A double brandy would go down a treat just at this moment, she thought - but no - she would wait until her companion arrived. The minutes ticked by agonisingly slowly. She fiddled with the cutlery, knocked over the cruet set, traced the pattern on the table cover.
If only she had left then, she reflected - or if he hadn't turned up. She heard a cupboard door open, then close. Was he fetching some implement - a strap - or God forbid - a cane? What was she going to do? If only they hadn't got on so well - If only - if only ...
"Joanna?" The voice startled her, and she stood up so quickly her chair almost overturned. There, smiling down at her, was Graeme - just as attractive as she had imagined him to be - tall, dark hair greying slightly at the temples, sensitive mouth, firm chin, eyes which seemed to look into her very soul. And in that moment, she fell in love!
This is ridiculous, she chided herself, as she made a vain effort to appear calm. Of course I'm not in love with him - I don't even know him! Cursing herself for her gaucherie, for this was not the impression she had wished to give - she offered her hand. He took it in his own, and bent to kiss her cheek. "I hope you haven't been waiting long," he said. "I'm so pleased to meet you at last."
"I - no - I've only been here a few minutes." She laughed, then put up her hands in a self-deprecating gesture. "I'm sorry - I'm not usually so clumsy. I suppose I must be a little nervous."
"Of course - quite understandable," he replied easily, as he adjusted her chair and took his own seat opposite. "I'm a little nervous myself." Silently, she blessed him for that lie.
Joanna's initial shyness and confusion soon melted away in the face of Graeme's easy camaraderie. They talked of books, politics, a shared taste in music, a not-so-shared opinion on the Royal Family. She found herself laughing at his dry wit, and he, for his part, was charmed by her naturalness, her spontaneous humour, her enthusiasm. Not until the meal was almost over, and they sat nursing coffee, did the conversation turn to the subject which had brought them together.
"May I ask you something, Joanna?" said Graeme, as he signalled the waiter to bring the bill. "Have you ever actually been spanked?"
She blushed. "No, I haven't," she replied. "It's just always been there - in my fantasies - but I've never told anyone about it. Until now."
"Then I have a suggestion." He reached across the table and clasped her hand. "Why not come back to my place? Perhaps we could turn some of those fantasies into reality."
Her mouth was suddenly dry, and her heart hammered in her chest. She licked her lips. "I - I'd -" she stammered. There was nothing she wanted more than to spend time with this man, to go to his home, allow him to - "I'm sorry," she made herself say. "It's not that I don't want to, but - we've only just met, and it wouldn't be..." She trailed off uncertainly, hoping against hope that she hadn't angered or upset him.
Slowly, Graeme expelled the breath he'd been holding. He nodded as though satisfied. "Good," he said. "I don't think either of us would have enjoyed it very much if your first experience had turned into a real disciplinary session."
Her eyes widened in shock. "You mean - if I'd said yes - you'd -"
"Yes I would," he replied firmly. "If you'd broken that most basic safety rule, I'd have blistered you so hard you wouldn't have been able to sit for a week." He regarded her thoughtfully. "You're taking the proper precautions, aren't you?"
She nodded. "Yes - my sister knows where I am - and I've to phone her at three. I've booked dinner at my hotel, so they know when to expect me." The words tumbled out as she hastened to reassure him that she'd been sensible about this meeting.
His grin melted something inside her. "Excellent! Did you reserve a table for two?"
"One - but I'll change it as soon as I get back." She returned his smile, and they parted with a promise to meet again at seven that evening.
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