Fantasm My Turn

I feel awkward
after Trin’s intensity
and fragile beauty.
It had taken convincing for me to wear
the black lace dress
over one-piece underwear and stockings,
but for this, I will wear less,
in public, which intimidates me.
It is a measure of how much I want to try this that I am willing to do so.

I leave my shoes on the floor, and peel down stockings
from my warm legs.
The little hooks are hard to unfasten at my hips because I am nervous, and my fingers are not working in the way I am used to.
Trin had been brave,
and I did not want to be less so.
I unfasten the three snaps between my thighs and tug up the back to expose my hips, tucking the lace in toward the small of my back to bare skin and nerves to a stranger.
When I sit on the table it sways and I roll over probably too quick, making it sway more
turning onto my belly to find some modesty.

He stills the table and asks me what experience I have.
I tell him the truth
that I am familiar with spanking but that this is new to me.

I trust him, and there is no great reason for this,
but I do.
I trust my instincts and I have reason for that.
He radiates a certain joy
an openness.
I feel no lingering bad intent in him. No threads of malice, and little aggression.
He wells with kindness, and a willingness to share and teach.
The bubbling lightness of his spirit is beautiful and reassuring.
There is not the crackle of attraction that I felt from him toward Trin, but that is fine for me and easily accepted.
I am there to learn, not make conquests.
My hands are unsure where to go, whether to lay flat, or find the edge.

The tap of the cane is very light
rhythmic
and I focus on it.
There is anticipation, but I try and release that
and just breathe.
The room narrows in.
The lens dilates and what is beyond the table darkens and recedes.
There is the feel of the table beneath me.
The sway.
The tap.
And a voice.

The sting and bite when it comes is different than I had expected.
It hits with a brightness, like a flash of sensation
deep into the flesh.
There is a beat of calm after that and then a rippling whoosh outward,
something that is so felt, it is hard to describe
and capture in words.
I shape the letters around it and then when I reread them,
they are smoke and gone, and nothing of what I really felt is captured.

Enough is to say that it is sensation layered.
and he kept me in those spaces.

From light warm taps, to biting floods.
There is more
but it lingers inside my chest
somewhere at my neck
and won’t come up to my lips,
or down into my fingers,
so I will hold it for myself.

I do not know how long I was on the table.
I could not tell you who was there,
But he was
and so was I.

Voice like a tether,
gentle,
he held me in his spaces
overwhelmed in sensation,
feeling in it, floating on top of the layers,
thinly present in reality
fully present in my body.
His touch was light, kind,
with his fingertips,
tender.
Then firmer as he thumped in the sting with an open fist.

When it was over, I was softened
edges blurred.
As I refastened the snaps between my thighs,
the feel of the fabric
made me wince.

I heard Trin
my stockings held with unsteady fingers.
She asked him about flogging and I closed my eyes tight.
I knew as I heard the words.
That I would ask for more too.