Blame it on the Blackout
A 'Sting in the Tail' Story
By Gato Medio

Chapter 4: The Follow-Up

As soon as I got to the office the next morning I went to
Fiona's cubicle. She hadn't arrived yet. I left a yellow
post-it sticker right in the middle of her monitor,
asking her to come and see me.

Fiona arrived a little later, carrying a plastic coffee
cup in one hand and my sticker in the other.

"Morning, Liz. What's the problem?"

"No problem, not really. I just wanted to talk to you
about a personal matter."

"Shoot." Fiona sat down on my visitors' chair, taking a
sip of her coffee.

"But this place isn't private enough," I said, keeping my
voice down. "Can we go somewhere for lunch? I'll pay."

"Difficult." Fiona answered, shaking her head. "I'm
already in trouble with my boss for arriving late. Going
out for lunch would only make things worse. Maybe
tomorrow would be better."

I didn't want to wait another day. I was desperate to ask
Fiona as soon as possible. In the end we agreed to have
lunch together in the staff restaurant. But we would take
a table at the far end of the dining hall. Other
colleagues would probably not bother to walk that far to
join us, or they would understand that we wanted to be on
our own and respect that wish.

And so it happened. I arrived first and chose a table
which was far away from the food counter. I looked out
for Fiona and waved to her when I saw her enter the
cafeteria.

"So what's that personal matter you want to talk to me
about?" Fiona asked as she put down her tray and took a
seat across the table from me.

"It's about what you told me the day before yesterday. I
can't stop thinking about it. I'm desperate to know more
details."

Somehow I knew that I wasn't making much sense.

"You mean about whether my Uncle Sid is or isn't my
father?" Fiona sounded a little apprehensive.

"No. About the spanking."

"Oh, _that_," Fiona said, munching some of her salad at
the same time. "What do you want to know?"

"What does it feel like?"

I could detect a smile on Fiona's face. Was this because
my curiosity amused her or was it because she enjoyed
talking about the subject?

"Last time we talked, we made a deal," Fiona finally
said. "You told me something about your love life and
then I told you an intimate secret about myself. I think
now it's your turn."

This caught me cold. Quite clearly Fiona wanted me to
talk some more about the things Roger and I got up to,
before she would answer my questions. Had she been turned
on by my last revelation, or did she merely want to know
something she could use in case I didn't keep my mouth
shut about her secret? No matter which, I was willing to
pay that price. I just hoped there would be enough time
for me to ask all my questions.

"I hadn't expected that you'd want me to talk about
myself first. I can't think of anything right now. What
do you want to know?"

"Tell me how you met Roger," Fiona suggested.

"It happened at Luigi's," I started.

Of course, Fiona knew Luigi's. There probably wasn't a
student at the North London Poly who didn't spend a
considerable amount of time at this caf‚, bar and
restaurant. Luigi had a soft spot for young people,
particularly students.

"I never had a chance to study," Luigi would often say.
"I like to be surrounded by young people. It makes me
feel like I'm still young." The students used to gather
in the 'back room', which wasn't really a separate room,
just an area visually separated by a couple of steps down
from the main restaurant area. Luigi didn't mind that we
sat around for hours, consuming very little. He even
tolerated our sometimes noisy behaviour when our
discussions got heated.

"That day, we were discussing the pros and cons of
distributed databases," I started my narration. "There
were quite a few different opinions. I was sitting with
my back to the wall, looking straight towards the
entrance, when this man walked in. He was dressed all in
black and his neatly trimmed black beard added to the
impression of severity.

"The restaurant area was almost empty. The man had a look
around before he chose a table. That's when our eyes met.
My knees went all wobbly, even though I was sitting! I
felt like I was going to melt under the intensity of his
look. But the expression on his face didn't change. I
could feel his eyes burn right through me.

"I had the impression that he had intended to sit with
his back to the side wall, in which case I would have
been looking at his profile, but - at least that's what
it seemed like to me - he changed his mind and chose a
chair where he was with his back to the door, facing me.
I couldn't take my eyes off him. It felt like I had been
hypnotised.

"The man ordered something to drink - I don't remember
what it was, probably a coffee or maybe mineral water -
without moving his head. After a while he took a small
box, roughly the size of a matchbox, out of his pocket.
He took something out of it and looked at it as he held
it between his thumb and index finger. Then he placed
whatever it was on the palm of his other hand and watched
it intently.

"I was too far away to see what was on his hand - or if
there was in fact anything there. Did that man have a pet
insect which he carried around with him in a matchbox?
What was it? An ant? A tiny spider? I had the feeling
that he was watching me as well as his unusual pet.

"I couldn't help it. I got up from my chair, oblivious to
the discussion which was going on around me, and moved
closer to his table to see what was on his hand. I still
couldn't see anything. As I moved even closer, the man
got up from his chair. I ended up standing so close to
him that our heads almost touched, but I still couldn't
see anything on his open hand.

"Then he put his arm around me and pulled me towards him.
Our lips met. It was the kind of kiss which invites
clich‚s. It took my breath away. The world around me went
into a spin. Time stood still. He released me only
briefly to allow me to catch my breath. Then his lips
were on mine again, with the same strength and
determination as before.

"I became aware that everybody in the caf‚ was looking at
us. How should I react? Should I fight against his iron
grip to maintain some dignity? Should I pretend that he
was an old friend whom I had met unexpectedly? Roger -
you've probably guessed already that this man was Roger -
made the decision for me. 'Let's go,' he said as he
guided me towards the door, paying for his drink on the
way out.

"'Let's go.' Those were the first words he spoke to me,
and it never occurred to me that I might object to this
request to leave with this complete stranger. He took me
to his flat and made love to me like nobody before made
love to me."

"Just like that?" Fiona asked with an astonished look on
her face.

"Yes. Just like that. It seemed the logical next step,
the only plausible outcome. It wasn't a decision I took.
Something - or someone - decided for me. Animal
attraction took control of me. All I wanted was to submit
to this male, hand over my physical being, let him do
with me what he wanted.

"Later, I asked him what had been in that matchbox, what
had happened to his pet insect. 'Oh,' he smiled, 'there
was no insect. That box was empty. I just used it to
catch a curious young lady.' I asked him how many times
before he had performed that little trick, and he said,
'This was the first and only time. It was something which
just occurred to me. And I'm very glad that it worked so
well.'

"The strange thing is that I really feel he's got me
trapped in his little box. I'm his, and I have to do
whatever he tells me to do. Even if it's just expressed
as a wish or a suggestion. If I ever wanted to leave
Roger - but I don't think that's ever going to be the
case - I would have to find and destroy that box to free
myself from the spell he has over me."

Fiona had listened attentively to my story. When I had
finished, she smiled at me broadly and said, "This sounds
like a tale of love at first sight."

I shook my head. "This isn't just love. It's much more.
It's a case of physical dependency."

"Well, at least it explains some of the things you told
me the other day. It must be really great to experience
this all-encompassing feeling of belonging to someone."

I could confirm that it was a great feeling. This may
sound strange, but it gave me comfort and self-assurance
to know that I had found my place in this world.

However, recently, my otherwise well-balanced emotional
life had been thrown into disarray by Fiona's
revelations. Now I wanted her to do her part to re-
establish my peace of mind.

"Right," I said. "I've done my bit. Now it's your turn.
Tell me: what does it feel like when your dad spanks you?
I want to know everything about it, both the physical and
the emotional side of it."

Fiona was a little startled by my directness and the
sense of urgency in my voice.

"Well," she finally started. "I think I told you already
that it provokes a number of feelings, some of them quite
contradictory. When I think about it beforehand, I know
that it's going to hurt. So there is some kind of fear, a
desire to avoid it. But I know that it's unavoidable.
That knowledge gives me the feeling of helplessness, the
sensation that I have to submit to something unpleasant,
something which happens against my will. Sometimes I even
feel a little sorry for myself, the helpless female
suffering at the hands of a tyrant.

"And then there is the thought of exposing myself to my
dad. It makes me feel wicked, even if I'm only lifting my
gown to make my behind accessible to his hand. And I feel
that I really deserve to have my bottom tanned, if only
because of my wickedness.

"When his hand finally makes contact, I feel the pain.
But mixed in with the pain is this feeling of deep
satisfaction ..."

"There comes Deeply Trouble," I interrupted Fiona.

I had paid attention to every word Fiona spoke; I was
literally drinking the words from her lips. But even so,
it didn't escape my attention that Fiona's boss was
approaching our table.

Fiona's Boss' real name was Balu Patel. He was renowned
for his 'imaginative' use of the English language. One of
his favourite expressions was 'deeply in trouble' which
resulted in his nickname, Deeply Trouble.

"You're deeply in trouble, young lady," Balu Patel said
to Fiona, doing justice to his nickname. "Your site is
gridlocked."

What I could gather from their conversation was that the
Heavy Metal group Fiona was looking after had decided to
put a video clip of their latest hit on their website so
that fans could download it. Fiona had warned at the time
that their server didn't have enough bandwidth to handle
a significant number of requests for a file that size.
Now it had happened. Fans were complaining that they
either couldn't access the site at all, or, if they
managed to get through, they were hanging there for
hours, waiting for the download to complete.

Fiona's 'I told you so' attitude didn't help. As a rule,
managers don't like to be told by a relative newcomer
that the problem had been predictable and that they had
only themselves to blame for what happened. And Balu
Patel wasn't any different. He didn't want to know about
Fiona's suggestion to upgrade the server and distribute
the video clip to various mirror sites around the globe.
He wanted something to be done now - a workaround, some
magical quick-fix to solve the problem.

"Well, finish your lunch and then come and see me so we
can discuss what can be done," he finally said. Then he
left the two of us on our own.

After this interruption, neither Fiona nor I were in the
mood for a lengthy conversation about the ins and outs of
having one's bottom spanked.

I was ready to reconcile myself to the idea that I would
have to wait another day before I'd be able to ask all my
questions, when Fiona suddenly said, "You know something?
If you're really that interested, you can come and watch.
Today is punishment day. It happens at seven. And then I
can explain to you afterwards what exactly I feel when it
happens."

I was speechless. My amazement must have shown on my
face.

Fiona said, "Only if you want to come, of course. It's up
to you." She wrote her address on a paper napkin and
handed it to me. "In case you decide to come, try to be
there by six thirty. There's no admission once the
performance has started." She gave me a big smile, then
she went to talk to her boss.

I stayed in my chair without moving. I felt like I had
been struck by a thunderbolt. She wasn't serious about
this, was she?

Only a few minutes ago I had felt a little annoyed with
Fiona. Her insistence that I tell her something about my
private life first, meant that there hadn't been enough
time to answer all my questions. But, to be fair, she
couldn't know that her boss would arrive and cut our
conversation short.

How could she invite me to watch as she was getting
punished by her dad? And her father - or rather her Uncle
Sid? How would he react to my presence? Fiona had told me
that her punishment happened at the appointed hour, no
matter who was present. So her uncle probably wouldn't
make an exception just because one of Fiona's fellow
students was visiting.

I returned to my workstation, still in deep thought. The
sound of my telephone ringing brought me out of my daze.

"Hi, sweetie. How's tricks?"

I knew instantly that this was Roger. His voice was like
a safe haven in a turbulent sea. Something I could hang
on to.

"Are you going to be at home at eight tonight?" Roger
asked.

"Probably not. Why?"

My answer, I realized, indicated that I had decided to
accept Fiona's invitation.

"That's a pity," Roger said. "I was going to call you for
a session of long-distance sex."

My heart dropped. There couldn't be any contest, could
there? I would have to let go of this idea of watching
Fiona getting her bottom thrashed. It had been a crazy
idea in any case.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked first. In that case I'll
make sure that I'm at home."

"No, no. Don't change your plans because of me," Roger
said. "We can leave it for tomorrow evening. That way,
you'll have something to look forward to."

He was right about that. The thought of sex with Roger,
even if it was 'only' long-distance sex, would keep me in
a state of excitement all day long.

"Anyway," Roger continued, "I got the impression that
you're planning something important tonight."

"Not really," I lied, "I was just going to visit Fiona, a
colleague of mine, for a chat."

"Well," Roger insisted, "it seemed quite important. You
sounded tense, there was even an undertone of arousal in
your voice. Are you planning to have some fun with her?"

I had to admit that Roger was right about the tension I
had felt when I answered the phone. I hadn't expected
that it would be evident in the sound of my voice,
though. But he was definitely wrong about the arousal.

"You know I wouldn't do a thing like that," I answered.

"Why not? It's only natural. Is she good looking?"

"Yes, she is good looking. But I wouldn't even think of
doing anything with her, because I'm a normal woman. And
normal women don't get turned on by other women. I have
no plans to 'have fun with her', as you put it," I stated
categorically.

"That's nonsense. There's nothing abnormal about two
women feeling attracted to each other. Maybe you didn't
have any plan, but if the mood is right ..."

I remained quiet. This was probably the first time I
disagreed with Roger.

"Here's a suggestion," Roger said. "Why don't you
masturbate in front of her? Then she has the choice to
join in or throw you out. I doubt that she'll throw you
out. And then you see what develops."

I was outraged. "I can't possibly stick my hand into my
knickers and finger myself in front of her," I pleaded.

I wondered whether the people in the nearby cubicles
could hear what I was saying.

"Well, you've done it in front of me. What's so special
about her? Here's another suggestion. Why don't you leave
your knickers off when you go there? That makes it
easier. In fact, why don't you take your knickers off
right now, while I'm listening? You can put the receiver
on your desk as you do it."

That was typical of Roger. He had a knack for turning a
simple phone conversation into a highly arousing
experience. I could feel his eyes on me, even though I
knew that he was hundreds of miles away.

I didn't know what to say. I put the receiver on my desk,
got up from my chair and slid my knickers half-way down.
Then I sat down again and pulled them completely off. I
considered myself lucky that I wasn't wearing jeans as I
often do.

"I've done it," I said as I picked up the receiver. "I've
got my knickers in my hand."

"Excellent!" Roger said. "You know something? You could
leave them off until I call you tomorrow evening. What do
you say?"

"If you want me to," I said, almost inaudibly.

"I've got to go now," Roger said. "Have fun with Fiona.
I'll call you tomorrow. Then you can tell me what
happened."

Roger hung up after declaring his love and kissing me
over the phone, and receiving my declaration and kisses
in return.

I was devastated. For a while I just sat there,
motionless, the receiver in one hand, my knickers in the
other.

"Christ!" I sighed. "What have I done to deserve this?
How did I get myself into this mess?" None of this would
have happened if I hadn't been so curious about Fiona's
spanking experience. She hadn't exactly strolled into my
cubicle saying, "Let me tell you something shocking about
myself, Liz." I had kind of wheedled it out of her. But
all of this would have never happened without that
goddamn blackout!

Before Roger's call I might still have been able to
change my mind about going to Fiona's place. Now I had no
longer any choice. I would have to go there and watch
Fiona's punishment. And then I would have to expose
myself to her while I satisfied myself with my fingers.
Worse still, Roger had told me to 'see what develops'.

And what would Fiona think of me when she noticed that I
wasn't wearing any knickers? Wasn't I paying too high a
price for satisfying my curiosity?

I struggled through the afternoon, trying desperately to
find something to occupy my mind. Shortly after five I
left and went home. Thinking of what I would be doing in
a little while I decided to have a shower. As I got
dressed again, I didn't put on any knickers. Then I set
off to the address Fiona had given me.

                    To be continued