It would be the wooden ruler first. The softest option but still harsh in his hands. As I lay motionless on the bed, I remembered handing it to him for the first time, knowing exactly what he intended to do with it, but handing it over all the same. I handed myself over too. I wanted to belong to him, truly devoted, and as my shaking fingers handed him the wooden ruler, I just hoped he would accept.
He did. Now, many months later, it was time to accept the consequences of belonging to him, and that meant that the wooden ruler was first. He slowly pulled down my underwear, the lace soft against my legs as they fell to the floor, and then it came, the first of many, quick and loud against my skin.
Wooden ruler first. A gentle sting that got stronger with each stroke. He was so strong. He warned me about that once, his voice halfway between cautious and excited as he told me that he was a lot stronger than me, so my idea of a hard spank would be remarkably different to his. He was right of course, but I had no complaints. A few breathless moans as I dug my fingernails into his duvet cover, but no complaints.
Again. Wood on skin. Wood on skin. Wood on skin. At first, I would always try to count each one, but after five or six, the pace always quickened, and my mind was a tempest, so all I could do was lay there and allow him to do as he wished. I was his plaything, all of the time, but especially when he punished me. It was a confusing cyclone of feelings. I melted at his touch, but my body radiated with shame for disappointing him and bringing the situation on in the first place.
Again. Wood on skin. Wood on skin, but then, a new sensation. I wasn’t sure how many it had been. I had lost count, as always, and now, he was kissing me, soft and gentle, his lips, lining my spine, and then across my shoulders and my neck.
“Good girl.” It would be his hand next. A little respite before the next stage. He wouldn’t be soft when he spanked me, but with his hands, he couldn’t resist kisses and caresses between strikes.
It began. His skin. My skin. His fingers, gentle with me for a few seconds, and then back to the beginning. His skin. My skin. I called out his name, my fingers, rough with the duvet cover. I felt it tear in between my fingertips, and I knew I would be bruised by morning.
I recited his name quietly, like a prayer, occasionally screaming, until we were both still. His kiss, tender on the back of my neck. “Good girl.” It was almost over. Just one more step and then I would have atoned. Just a little more pain and pleasure until the road to penance had been completed. Metal.
I had given him a metal ruler as a gift. My own little way of saying “I trust you.” It was the hardest of all my punishments, but every stroke with the devil’s material, as I had come to refer to it in my head, was another reminder that I was right to trust him. He never gave more than I could take, and I was always rewarded for seeking absolution.
Metal always seems to go faster than wood or his own hands. I didn’t even try to count, I just lay beneath him, writhing and whispering his name, as the sharp pain sank into my body and became a kind of sweetness. I could hear the ruler moving through the air and then the impact with my body, over and over. Metal on skin. Metal on skin. Sweet kisses as he moaned my name softly. Metal on skin. Metal on skin. Then stillness. It was over. I was free, for now…