I've been thinking about this story a lot lately. I'm on a vanilla listserve, and one of the threads has been titled "Cause and Effect." It's rather distracting, because the thread has nothing to do with the story, but the subject line startles me every time.
I posted the story on the SSS newsgroup several years ago.
Cause and Effect
She prefers to look at spanking as a cause, rather than an effect. So she refuses to spank me for bratting (“You like spanking,” she points out. “Why should I reward you for doing something that bugs the crap out of me?” I can recognize her logic, but it’s a hard habit to break.)
Sometimes she surprises me. “I wonder what it would be like to watch you squirm all morning,” she muses as we get ready for a brunch party. I pause in my search for socks and look at her sitting at her desk. She is holding a light, flexible metal ruler. She raises her eyebrows. I feel myself blush deeply.
My heart thumps. I don’t even know everyone who will be coming. Do I really want a spanked bottom in front of strangers? I decide to take a chance. I lower my jeans and lean over the side of her bed.
She comes to stand beside me, and rubs my back. Swat! The first strokes with the ruler are light, tentative. She is still learning my body, and doesn’t want to hurt me more than I want to be hurt.
“Harder?” she asks.
“Yes, please.” My bottom is beginning to feel warm.
“Should these come down?” she asks, touching the waistband of my underpants. I reach back and lower them.
The strokes fall harder on my bare flesh. I hiss, and she pauses.
“You can keep going,” I say, ask, reassure.
She lands the ruler across my bottom several more times, pauses, rubs my back. Then the ruler cracks vertically down one buttock and onto my thigh. “That left quite a mark,” she comments, and examines it. Then, “For symmetry,” she explains, and cracks the ruler down on the other thigh.
“I think that’s enough for me,” she says. She lays the ruler on the bed, and rubs my back. “Do you want to look?”
I turn and examine the redness of my bottom in the mirror. Time is getting short. I pull up my pants, find socks, and prepare to greet our friends.
My bottom stings and tingles. I can feel every thread of my jeans, of my underpants. The doorbell rings, and she ushers in the first guests. We are still preparing, and they came early to help. I am less bossy than usual in the kitchen, and one of my friends comments on this.
My girlfriend looks knowingly at me, and pats my bottom as she passes. I squirm.
More guests arrive. She pulls me down to sit on the arm of her chair. I squirm, and hop up to pass out glasses and plates. She stands behind me, and I feel the stinging of my bottom. Every move reminds me of my connection to her. I exaggerate my squirming just enough that she will notice it, but remain subtle enough that our friends don’t comment.
After the party, we are all taking the subway together towards the city. I hop up quickly to offer my seat to a woman with shopping bags. Our friends comment on my butch courtesy. My girlfriend and I exchange knowing looks.