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 café, 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 clichés. 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 café 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.