The   wallflower.

    She sat at her table, quiet, watching the noisy throng in front of her.  She had dreamt of this moment, and now it was here- her very first taste of what she had read about and chatted about on her computer was here in front of her- and it was everything she had dreamed- and yet nothing like it. Why had she come, she thought ruefully. Online, she could at least pretend she was attractive; here in reality, even with her best on, she was what she’d always been, all through high school. The frumpy one, the plain one, the one who sat on the sidelines, and watched the other kids dance. The wallflower, her mom had called her.  And here again, the same thing - the men all flocked to the perky tits and big eyes, even when there was only vacuum between the ears. She wished she was not as intelligent as she was; maybe if she was dumber it wouldn’t hurt so bad- but as it was, she didn’t know which to hate more, sometimes- the ‘overweight’  body- not fat, just solid 160-lb woman with a 34 inch waist, - with the equally solid face above it- or her brain behind the face, which allowed her to taste the dregs of her solitude as she watched others enjoy her dreams, and to read and understand the thoughts behind the eyes of the men who passed their glance over her, and then looked for something  more ‘slavish’.

   She gathered her purse, and hoped no-one would notice her slip out, or if they did see her, they’d assume she was going to the washroom or something. Almost to the door, she felt a hand on her forearm, pulling her gently around. She almost screamed, the shock was so great- but it died in her throat as she turned fully to face the eyes above the hand. Somehow, they seemed to see right through her- to know she was sneaking out like a coward- and then to her horror, his words confirmed it.

    ‘Why would you want to leave now? The evening is still young.’

     She could not look away from his eyes. He was not a big man, she noted abstractly- not huge at all, but she could tell by the feel of his fingers still on her forearm he had strength – was probably in fact more powerful than she, though she outweighed him by probably 20 lbs and topped him by at least 2 or 3 inches. Yet even though she knew he would not hold her if she pulled away- she didn’t want to- his fingers merely guided her to look into his eyes. And looking into them, she knew she could not lie.

   Her mouth worked, but words didn’t want to come- she blushed red to her roots; tongue-tied. His voice was soft; still she could hear each word, over the laughter and cries/shrieks/moans from the play areas, as he placed a finger to her lips, then pointed back to her table. ‘Would you care to sit with me awhile? If you leave now, you will always feel a failure; you know that.”

   Numbly, she let him lead her back to her seat, staring as he sat down to face her over the corner of the table.  ‘I am a failure!’ she burst out as he settled in. ‘I thought that… that..’ she choked, feeling sudden tears. ‘I can’t cry’-she thought furiously. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’

     ‘You thought it would be like the chatrooms’ he finished her unsaid words. “and for once you might fit in, and not be thought weird for your secret thoughts- and be accepted for who you are- and now you find that some people are the same no matter where they are- looking for a fantasy, rather than a reality. Some people in here are fixated on a ‘porn-star’ image- and some have the body to play the part, as you can see; in any mix of people there are going to be some hot bods. But that’s not what you came to find, is it?’

    ‘N-no, Sir’.  The honorific fell so naturally from her lips she was not abashed; it fit the man.

   ‘What was it you sought, then? Do you know?”

   ‘I- I hoped to find …’ she bowed her head, looking away from his eyes- how school girlish she’d sound; she couldn’t finish.

     ‘You hoped to find someone who could see through the outside to the inside of you- someone who would want to read the book, not just scan the cover.’ Her eyes snapped up to his, mouth forming an ‘o’. Inexorably, he went on. ‘you wanted to be tested, to test yourself in both obedience, and endurance of pain; you wanted to expose your inner self to at least one other soul on this planet before you died of the lack’.

     Ashamed to be so obvious, she dropped her eyes again, only to feel his fingers on her chin, lifting, as he searched her face. ‘And you were going to run away from the chance.’

    It was not a question. He knew! She could not bear to see pity in his face; she resolutely turned her eyes to the floor, only to feel the true strength in his grasp; he turned her to meet his eyes as if she were a child.  Almost sobbing, she looked- and saw no pity, just warmth, his face not maliciously amused, but rather smiling gently, as if seeing something that delighted him. ‘Silly girl’ he said, lightly, warmly- and she could not help herself, she flooded; hands flying up to cover her face. The strong arms wrapped her round, holding her easily till the sniffles stilled. As she lifted her face from his shoulder, he wiped her eyes, then nose. ‘Feel better?’

      She blushed again- gods above, what an ass he must think she was, falling apart like that. Ugly, fat, and weepy- what a combination! She wished she could crawl under the table to hide. A touch on her fingers recalled her to him; she realized he was speaking again. ‘When you came here tonight, was one of your secret thoughts a hope to be flogged?” 

   How could he know?!?  She knew her own face must show her shock, even as she tried to stammer out a denial- but his eyes stilled the words, then she lowered her head, murmuring so softly she could barely hear herself ‘ Yes, Sir.’

   ‘Then why run away?’

  ‘Because I’m a wallflower!’ she burst out, stung.  ‘Look at me! No-one will want me. I just sit here watching and waiting and hoping- and I am sick to death of it.’ Her tears threatened again at the voicing of her despair.

     Without a word, he took her hand and led her to the play floor.  As they reached the St Andrews cross, he stopped, then turned her to face him. ‘Will you trust me?  I want to show you that you are beautiful.’

   She almost laughed out loud at the thought- and what could he have in mind? Her mind whirled, questioning, at the same time she heard her voice answering him, ‘I trust you’. And she realized it was true. Without having a clue as to why, she felt somehow she could trust safely. He turned her to lean back to the cross, then lifted her arms so she could grasp the two ropes that dangled from pulleys at the top of the cross. She could not believe it! He was reaching for her shirt buttons, and beginning to strip her- naked! In front of everyone!  She wanted to slap his hands from her clothes, and run- she was not going to be humiliated like this!- but somehow her arms would not move; his eyes locking hers as he lifted the shirt away from her, then lowered one arm at a time to slide the garment away. A reach around her, almost a hug- his hand popped the clasp of her bra, and she stood topless, beet-red, yet when she saw the pleasure open on his face it touched her- she stood a little straighter, as his hands slid first her skirt, then her panties, slowly down over her legs. She closed her eyes, so as not to see the people beginning to look over at her, lifting one foot, then the other to allow him to clear the cloth from beneath her. Her nipples pointed sharply; was it the cool in the air, she wondered- but it was more- the look on her face told her he had seen all she had- and was pleased at what he saw. Her thighs dampened, she spread her feet without order, to follow the form of the cross.

   ‘Good girl’. The words thrilled her.  She watched his face near hers, so all she could see was his eyes; his voice low- but clear in every syllable. ‘I want you to hold the ropes for me as long as you can, or till I say enough- will you do that for me?’ To make his meaning clear, he held up his hand, now sporting a long, many-tailed flogger.

   Doubts assailed her; she couldn’t! but she knew he wanted her to try, and this was somehow important- that she at least try.  Her shoulders lifted, squared, she settled her feet firmly. ‘I’ll do my best, Sir.’ She swallowed hard.

   ‘I know you will, little one’ (He’d called her ‘little’!) Though she knew it had to be a joke, the words gave her strength; she arched her chest towards him as he stepped back to get the proper range.  The first stroke landed across her belly, eliciting a ‘whuff’  from her; more of shock than pain- and then he began a slow forehand-backhand working up her left leg, then her right- then more steady, even strokes that tickled/stung across her belly, the tempo and the force increasing- and then he was at her breasts.

   She could feel the impacts; she noted almost clinically how the blows made her breasts wobble and jump back and forth as he struck. The swish-thwack-swish had a hypnotic  rhythm, and she could feel pain- but it wasn’t  ‘pain’- it was sensation and a sensation that was reaching into her deepest  recesses and flooding them with heat. Swish-thwack-swish. He varied from a back-and-forth level stroking to an x-shaped crosshand that took in one breast, and then down over her belly to the opposite leg- then the other breast to leg on the return stroke; her hips started to pulse in time to the impacts.

   It stopped; she cried out in frustration; eyes searching his face. But no! He was not disgusted- his expression held respect, admiration, and pleasure in equal measure- but that was all. “I think your front has had enough.”

She looked down at herself for the first time- and her eyes widened. She was a bright pink from her lower calves to her armpits, with an overlaying tracery of heavier red lines,  and a few darkening bruises already forming on her breasts- yet it did not hurt; it was a marvelous tingling warmth. And she knew exactly what she needed to do. She smiled delightedly, then turned, took the rope-ends in hand again, and spread her legs, offering her back.

     He worked her as he had the first portion- up one leg, across her buttocks, and down the other, quickly bringing them to the same pink as the front of her body. The ones on her ass now began to hurt; she could tell he was striking even harder, now- but the pain seemed to send electric jolts straight through her into her clitoris; she could feel juices begin to seep down her inner thighs.  As her hips began to match the tempo of the whip, he shifted again, flickering lightly across her kidney area, then laying in again with vigor over her shoulder blades and upper torso with enough force to drive the wind from her in grunting gasps. And yet the oddest thing seemed to be happening. Though she was not facing him- she could see his face in her mind’s eye. It was as if she were reading his mind. She could tell where each blow was going to fall before it landed. She was enthralled at the idea you could be in such communication.  A final –hardest-of-all blows- and she knew! his next thought. She bent at the waist as far as she could, opening her legs- and moaning as the flogger tails lifted up this time, and rippled between her legs. It did not hurt- it should have hurt, she knew that, on one level of her mind- yet it didn’t, it was a glorious licking tongue nipping at her most secret spots, lifting her hips then setting her down to await the next one.

   Her breath was a hoarse rasp, now- her hips flexed and jerked under the biting leather- and suddenly she tossed her head up and back to stare wildly into his eye… ‘Can I come? Please? Can I come?’ she was so close, so very close- but to gain completion without his permission seemed somehow to be disrespectful; she wanted him to know how he was making her feel.

     ‘On the fifth stroke from now, little one- and I want you to count them for me; will you do that for me?’

    She was so close! Could she last?  ‘Yes, Sir’- she gasped out; trying now to still her hips to offer the best target. ‘Please Sir. Please! Now! ‘Swish-thwack-splat! She was so wet the leather made squishy noises as it flailed into her. ‘One!’  Swish-splat. “Ahhh! two!’  Swish-thwack.. “threeeee’- a high keen, as she fought her orgasm. Another stroke, harder- then ‘fourrrrr’ a guttural groan. And, nothing! She wiggled, spreading wide looking back to see why he denied her her release. ‘When you count five, little one, I want you to come. Come for Me. Do you understand?

   And she did- this was not an orgasm for her own pleasure- though she could tell it would be mighty, indeed- but it  rather was her gift to him, to repay his time and effort to bring her to this place, so he could see into her and reveal herself at her most vulnerable. ‘Y-yes, Sir’, she gasped… I will come for you-please, Sir, may I come for you?’

    ‘Come- Now!’ His voice was stern, suddenly- and she could not have disobeyed to save her life. As the thongs bit deeply, she arched her back, forcing her breasts up to the ceiling, and howled her relief as though possessed.

     “Fiii—ahhhhhiiieieeevvvvveeeeee-ogodogodogodogod, Five- Ahhhhhhhh! Jes—uuuusss!” 

The tension left her body, her hands lost the ropes; she collapsed to her knees, holding tight to the legs of the cross to stay her fall. As aftershocks rippled through her, she felt his arms around her, hugging her close, and she saw, for one beautiful moment, how she appeared to him- whip-marked, tear-stained, hair flying wild from the thrashing of her head as she was beaten- and saw that she was beautiful to him. And that her submission to him had excited him deeply was evident, too- she could see the tenting of his trousers.  Without a pause, she turned into him, reaching for his zipper. She’d never done this in her life, all she hoped was that somehow he would know that this was her thanks- she took him into her lips, and tentatively flicked her tongue across the salty flesh.  Again his hands guided her; directing her with touches, then at last holding her head firmly while he thrust into her mouth like it was her vagina. She choked on the first deep stroke, but opened to the pressing flesh, breathing around it as it drew back for a new plunge. He froze, then- she could feel him jetting into her throat, his erection pulsing , jerking- then beginning to soften as he pulled back. At least he was spent; she sucked the last drops from under the foreskin, and sat back- now scarcely daring to meet his gaze. It seemed so right, somehow, inside herself, when she’d done it- now he’d just think she was a slut. And what would all the other people think, now, too? She’d never be able to show herself again. She tried to sink into the mat, hoping this was not happening- yet all too aware that yes, she’d just been whipped into an orgasm so powerful the only proper way to say thank you was to give an orgasm in return.

     He picked her clothing up from where he’d set it, and she clutched it, wanting to cover her shame. ‘I’d like it very much if you would walk back to the table with me just as you are.’

     She jerked her face up to his, startled- and then recalled how she felt herself seeing thru his eyes, in her orgasm- and she could see he still saw that in her. An unfamiliar sense of pride filled her; if he could see it, who cared if no-one else could. She placed her clothes into his hand again. ‘As long as you want me like this, I will be happy to please you.’ He took her hand, and helped her to her feet- and then steadied her as the sudden burst of applause made the rafters ring and made her jump. She looked around; he and she were the only people on the floor; all others had stopped to watch her- and as she dared to look around, she could see that the others in the room did not think the less of her for her actions; they approved and thought she was beautiful, too.  Her back was straight as she walked beside him back to the table, then knelt at his side as he sat down.

      ‘Thank you’ she said simply.

     ‘It was my pleasure and privilege, little one. I did not expect the connection to be like that first time.  I hope now you know how truly beautiful you are’.

     ‘Thank you’ she said again; ‘I do. May I offer you something in return?’

    ‘You owe me nothing, small one- it was, I say again- my pleasure. What is it you wish to offer?’

      She knew she had to say it; yet her old fear came back to choke her anew- until she locked eyes once more.

     ‘Me.’

    “ I will call you passionflower’ he answered’, and she cried.