Wednesday: Strap

There were more episodes. More pauses. All careful, thoughtful, deliberate; good for both of us.

She had mentioned several times, over the years, that friends had a strong preference for leather over wood. I paid attention.

I reminded her of that as she stretched across my lap, the spatula discarded and rejected.

The strap was a surprise: I had not announced buying it, and I had not shown it to her in advance. Short, it was meant to be used in close quarters, over the knee. A bit like a belt doubled over, with a portion fastened tight as a handle. Stiff leather, heavy, but flexible.

It worked. Very… extremely… effectively.

Sting, yes, to be sure. I had tested that on myself ahead of time: I knew how it would feel, and was confident I could use it responsibly. But also… more than sting. The out-loud crack of the doubled leather. The very idea of being strapped. An edge for me; for both of us, as it turned out. Effective: in more than the obvious sense.

After a while, it was time for my belovèd to return to corner. She chose, for the first time ever, to stand with her arms crossed against the wall, leaning forward against it, with her bottom presented to me. Submissively, deliberately offered. She was, as we had discussed, “red, sore, crying.”

Standing behind her, I was still holding the strap.

— Frenulum