Read Me like a Book

The first slap that landed onto my ass was light. "Spread your legs a bit wider," he said, nudging one of my ankles with his foot. I obeyed, feeling myself become more exposed. I could still feel the eyes of the blonde man on me. He spanked me again, and again, each slap resounding loudly in the room, yet they were all light, playful. My face was furiously red with blush, and I was grateful I could bury my head into my arms on the counter for a fragment of privacy in an otherwise blatant scene of exposure, of surrender. He came to stand beside me, running one hand into my hair and grasping a fistful at the base of my neck. He pulled my head back, not painfully, but firmly, until my face was again exposed. With his other, he delivered more light blows. Never before have I felt so exposed to anyone, in all my life. I was completely at his mercy, and it was a most benevolent, delicious mercy. I don't know how long it went on for, but it seemed at once very long, and not long enough. The air was so charged, the silence between slaps so thick it pressed into my ears, creating a low-pitched hum. I could feel how ready I was, ready to be taken more completely, ready for him.

"Would you like me to fuck you?" he said, his voice having acquired a raspy quality.

"No," I said, when what I really meant was yes.

"Alright," he said, releasing me. "In that case, we're all done."

For a moment I couldn't move. Surely he saw how misleading my words were, how my body enticed him to take things further. We'd come this far, after all; and besides, men in our culture are conditioned to ignore those type of words, are they not? But when he said nothing more, made no further moves, I slowly turned around, thinking that perhaps these two were a different sort of man after all. I faced them both, and we all looked at one another, and though they spoke no words, I could see their eyes were filled with many. He reached down and handed me my clothes. What a gentleman, I though to myself, laughing inwardly. When I was dressed, he motioned towards the door. I walked first, with him right behind me, to the door, which he opened and I exited.

When I was on the second step, I turned around. He stood there, watching, as though expecting – or perhaps merely hoping – that I would pause. He smiled, ever so slightly.

"You could come back sometime," he said. "If you'd care to."

I look back at him, wholly incapable of forming a coherent thought, let alone words.

"I know what you need," he said, tilting his head slightly, a smile spreading across his face. "But whatever you decide, don't worry: your secret is safe with me."

I paused, feeling my face reflect the smile he's wearing, as though we shared the very same one that extended between us both, in a conspiratorial sort of way. I turned and walked away without another word.

So, what do you think – did I go back?