I suffered my punishment Friday night. I haven’t wanted to write this, for it’s like reliving it again. But I must, for various reasons. I have to move on. Perhaps the reporting of these events will give me closure…
It’s a sports bar, north and west of downtown Denver. I’ll refrain from disclosing its name and location, but I can say it’s kind of upscale as bars go — Western rustic as everything around here is, but clean and fresh in its way, with a patio terrace facing the mountains.
Mistress and I had been here once before. Blake and his friends gather here many Friday nights after a week of work. Most of them are in the construction business. More on that in a moment.
We pulled into the parking lot around five. It wasn’t that busy. The bar is a bit out of the way up in the foothills, so it doesn’t get after-work traffic, but it still can draw a clientèle on the weekend. I learned later that the Denver basketball team played Thursday night but was off Friday, so maybe that was why it was less crowded.
Fine with me.
In the car, Amanda had reviewed with me what I was required to do. “I’ll lead the conversation,” she’d said. “You’ll get to know the guys. At a some point, I’ll prompt you to speak. Shall I go over what you have to say?”
“No, I memorized it,” I said.
“There are four.”
“I’m well aware — seared into my mind. Trust me, I’m not going to blow this.”
My words were unintentionally ironic. Amanda laughed and was about to make more of a funny from it, but stopped herself, suppressing a smile.
After a few miles, she asked, “Are you nervous?”
“You’ll get through it.”
I said nothing, steeled within, thinking Mistress Amanda was enjoying this way too much.
The weather had been rainy and cool all day, and though it wasn’t raining when we arrived, the terrace was closed, its patio umbrellas folded and strapped shut.
Mistress had me in a short denim skirt and a light sweater with a deep V-neck, showing some of my cleavage, loose enough for my boobs to roll around underneath. I also wore one of my titanium collars with O-rings, wide like one of the rings of Saturn.
I’ve learned since, Amanda wasn’t sure what she was walking into — in regard to the other patrons and the vibe of the room. She didn’t want to invite an unintended scene, she just wanted to create her own scene somewhat more privately. So, aside from the collar, she toned me down a bit. I wore flats not heels, and she didn’t walk me in on a leash, although I saw she had one in her purse.
Blake and his friends were in a side room that had a long table in the center, which they had reserved and now occupied. Blake and one other of the guys stood as we entered. I saw the two who remained seated exchange a glance and a grin.
So, the gang was Blake, Connor, Tyler, and Jack.
This is how I perceived them at first blush: Connor was built square and solid like a football player, and initiated a lot of the conversation. Jack had an angular frame like Blake, and wore black-rimmed glasses. Tyler wore an orange Denver Broncos T-shirt that showed a little bit of a paunch in front. (For a while, I got Tyler and Jack confused, I think because my stereotype of a financial accountant (Tyler) is of a nerdy guy wearing glasses. In fact it was carpenter Jack who wore the glasses.)
It seemed to me all of them were in their late twenties, and I could sense from their smirks and smiles what I already had assumed — that all knew what I do for Blake.
“Blake’s talked a lot about ya,” Amanda was saying breezily as we sat down. She so easily slips into woo mode, adapting to the style and jargon of whatever room she’s in. “I’ve been meanin’ to do this sooner, but work gets in the way…” She went on for another minute, talking about how nice the bar was, and how we’d been once before, only briefly. She always does this so well, talking awhile to give people time to process her, and us. She paused, taking a breath. “Anywayyy,” she said, drawing out the word, “thanks for letting us crash your party.”
“Been wanting to meet you,” Connor said. “Blake here’s told us things. Just haven’t been sure whether to believe them.”
“Good things, I hope,” Amanda replied.
“Interesting for sure.”
Jack, the guy in glasses, uttered a little laugh, out of the blue. Everyone was smiling. Blake looked over at Amanda, perhaps looking for her approval of his buddies and the setting. I sat subdued, imagining what specifically these guys had been told.
“Well,” Amanda said, “we have no secrets… But I want to know why you wouldn’t believe our Blake here.”
“He has these stories,” Jack blurted out, “about the work he does for people like you. And things with her,” he added, nodding at me.
Blake smiled. I blushed. I did a lot of blushing Friday night.
Connor reached for Blake, next to him, and gripped him by the shoulder. “Blake here doesn’t say much, a man of few words, so when he speaks anything, it’s usually true. But this was so out there, we were wondering… Nice to put faces to rumors,” Connor said. He proved to be articulate and glib, clearly the alpha of their group. We would learn later that he has his own home repair company, employs a few people. He uses Tyler part-time as his financial guy, accountant, or something like that.
The waitress came by. Introduced herself as Missy. “These boys giving you any trouble?” she said to Amanda.
“They a rowdy bunch?”
“Depends on the game,” Jack said.
“They talk it up, but they’re harmless,” Missy replied. “My regulars, every Friday night, just about. What can I get you gals?”
Amanda ordered a beer, I ordered a bourbon. Figured it would help me endure this if I got halfway smashed.
As she was leaving, Missy said, “Let me know if these boys give you any what-for.”
There was some general introductory talk, as Amanda had suggested in the car that there would be. It was Connor who prompted it, asking Amanda about her business. She responded about her online HR company, and they did the CEO thing for awhile. I was aware both Connor and Amanda were the alphas at the table. But they weren’t competing. Nothing much more to say on that, but I could feel it.
Blake spoke too, saying something about Jack: “You remember him.” I nodded, but then felt awkward because I realized he was addressing Amanda. “Helped me with building the dog run.”
Amanda nodded. “Of course. Now I can place you, Jack. Good to see you again.”
Seems that Jack is a freelance carpenter and both Connor and Blake use Jack on projects. So the four of them work somewhat independently but connect in various ways in their work.
There was other conversation, not about me, which I was only too happy for. The guys talked sports awhile, which all went over my head. Amanda said, “I heard the Nuggets won last night.” I looked at her sideways in puzzlement. She knows nothing about sports.
I never initiated any conversation, but responded when asked a question. Frankly, I was struggling to remain present in the moment.
Drinks came, a beer for Amanda, bourbon for me, refills on beers for the guys. My heart sank a little when Amanda ordered an appetizer, and the guys ordered burgers and BBQ chicken. I think I had imagined this would all be done over a single drink, that I’d make my four-part confession speech, and we’d be out of there.
No, this was going to be a long evening.
As a group, the guys seemed a mixture of latent adolescence and young blue-collar professionals. They weren’t offensive in their comments, though suggestive at times with innuendos and inside jokes. Jack was least restrained, a little giggly, often blurting out things. Blake was quiet as always, but smiled and laughed in a way I don’t know him. Tyler was a bit of a cipher to me, but would ask questions later. As a group, within their gang-of-four chemistry, they sometimes gave off a frat-boy jokey vibe. Yet individually, they flashed moments of responsible maturity and seemed like men at the front edge of adult life.
Their conversations droned to a thrum in my background. I wondered if my reality as a submissive woman appealed to them more as smirking boys or as men on the cusp of very adult things.
I don’t mean to drag this out, but it felt dragged out to me, and was part of my experience Friday night. It seemed like forever.
We had finally finished eating. Missy had cleared off our plates and had brought refills of drinks. I had declined another bourbon.
Connor, sipping his beer, said: “Blake has told us about you, but we want to hear more. From you.” Something like that. It opened the door for Amanda to get into it.
(Now that I write this, I realize I may have some of the sequence of these conversations out of order. We may have had some of this discussion during our meal. I suppose it doesn’t matter.)
Amanda spoke about us being in an alternative relationship that was based on dominance and submission. Tyler asked what “alternative” meant. Amanda explained. She didn’t go into us being in a lesbian relationship, I assume because that was fairly obvious — however, Jack would ask about that later. Amanda talked about how we take the life seriously, believe in it as a real hierarchy of roles, and live this way 24/7. How we are wired this way, choose to live differently, and so on and so on…
This conversation about our lifestyle went on a while. But it eventually wound down, and I could tell Amanda was about to invite me, finally, to present my confession.
Suddenly realized I needed another drink. Leaning over to Amanda, I whispered my request, one that I would soon regret.
A smile grew on her face, and she nodded. To my embarrassment, she pulled out my leash from her purse and attached it to my collar. “Shae wants another bourbon,” she announced to the table, “and we probably need to go up to the bar to get it. Connor, would you do the honors?”
Connor nodded with a shit-grin on his face, and Amanda handed him my leash.
The happy-hour and dinnertime crowds had cleared out, and the side room was empty but for us. It was the lull before the late-night drinkers. But the main bar room still had people at tables and booths. So, yes, Conner led me by leash through the maze of tables up to the bar. I could feel people staring. I asked the bartender for a bourbon and stood there waiting, facing Connor a foot away, holding my leash, which now hung in a loop between us.
Connor stared at me with a smile.
“What?” I said, red-faced.
He gave a shake of his head, then said, “This is fascinating.”
We got back to the table. Amanda was holding court. I sipped my bourbon of courage, and she took her time finishing up what she was saying. I know she was giving me time.
Unfortunately, memories like this become very vivid, indelible. I recall it this way:
Amanda said, “So, Shae has something to say. I wanted us all to meet anyway, to meet all of you, Blake’s friends, and this has been so good, but we have another purpose in being with you tonight.” With that, she turned it over to me.
I had rehearsed this over and over, and I had in my mind the four parts of my confession:
What I do for him.
My order to notify.
My failure to notify.
My public apology.
My voice was whispery and hoarse: “As you probably know, for a while now, Blake has had appointments with me. These are times when Mistress Amanda has me… well… service him.”
“Say it for what it is,” Amanda prompted.
I started to turn to her with a glare (this was already hard enough, for god sake), but thought better of it and nodded. “I service him orally.”
“Shae,” Amanda said sternly.
“I give him a blowjob.”
There was some tittering laughter. Big grins. I remember someone said, “Way to go, man,” directed to Blake. At a point, my eyes couldn’t look at anyone directly, and I cast my eyes down, focusing instead at a spot in the middle of the table.
“How often do you suck his dick?” Jack blurted out.
I looked over at Amanda and she, smiling, nodded for me to answer. “About every few weeks,” I said. “Whenever he books his time with me.”
Jack added, “That’s exactly what he said.” He turned to Blake, “So you weren’t blowing smoke, after all.”
“He was getting blown,” Tyler punned, and everyone chuckled.
I glanced sideways at Blake. He too was smiling, probably exulting that his stories about me were being verified. I think I had wondered if he would be embarrassed by this evening too. Maybe I wanted him to be more “in it with me,” sort of like this is something we do and “if you must, guys, now you all know.” That sort of coupled sharing of the experience. Of course, I always want to make everything a relationship, force meaning into it. But Blake Friday night was not like that, showing a different side of him, rather enjoying his conquest, me, in front of his buddies.
I took a gulp of bourbon, and it burned going down. I was blushing deeply, I knew — red-face itself quite a sight, I was sure. I resolved to myself just to get through the rest of my four-point confession.
“Mistress Amanda gave me an order,” I said. I went on to explain my blog. “Her instruction to me was to provide a notification to readers whenever I service Blake.”
Someone interrupted, asking about my blog — Tyler, I think — and if they could read it. Amanda said she would send Connor the link and he could distribute it. (They may be reading this now.)
“So,” I continued, “I failed to notify anyone that I had serviced Blake— ”
“Serviced?” Amanda corrected, again not allowing me euphemisms.
“Had given him a blowjob. The appointment happened a week ago Tuesday, but I hadn’t posted any notification for a full week after. That was a disobedience, wrong of me.”
“Does he come in your mouth or on your face?” Jack interjected rudely.
I breathed in deeply, took some more of my bourbon. Now I wished I’d made it a double. “Either way,” I answered dutifully. “However he wants me.”
“God,” Jack said, “that’s so hot.” He turned to Blake: “You’re such a lucky dude.”
“Don’t I know it!” Blake replied with a chuckle.
I remember there was laughter around and other things said, but I don’t recall the specifics. I had two more points to get to, but the guys perhaps thought that was the all of it, and they went on and on for a while.
Amanda stepped in to redirect. “I require this of her,” she said, again commanding the room, “because it’s part of her slavery to me. It’s what she needs and what she craves. And she loves sucking cock…
I closed my eyes, unable to look at anyone.
“So, there’s more Shae has to tell you…”
So, at this point, I just wanted to plow through to the end. I opened my eyes again and looked up, forcing myself into eye contact. “So I confess that I failed to do the notification. I was wrong. And this is my punishment — to confess all this to you in person. I apologize to you publicly for not notifying everyone of my servicing of Blake.”
It became a blur, and these words may be out of order and maybe not exactly what was said, but I think it was something close to that.
I remember Amanda asking Blake if there was anything he wanted to add.
He looked around the table. “Now do you guys believe me?”
Nods all around, jokey comments and laughs following.
“I have to say,” Blake continued, “that Shae is a pretty good cocksucker.”
“On a scale of…” Tyler started.
“Of five stars,” Jack finished. “Make it one to five stars.”
“Really?” I said aloud. As in, do we have to go there?
Blake thought a moment and finally said, “Four stars.”
“Why four not five?” Tyler probed.
“I want her to keep trying harder.”
Everyone roared. I shook my head, but even I had to smile slightly. I was relieved now. It was over.
Missy came back into the side room. She apologized for not attending to us for a while. “Was on break,” she said. “But anything more I can get you now?”
Connor ordered another beer. I asked for another bourbon. “Maybe I’ll actually taste this one,” I said.
Amanda stood and pulled Missy to the corner of the room to tell her she’d pick up the tab.
Jack, who seemed never to have a thought he didn’t speak out loud, asked, “So are you two lesbians or what?”
“God, Jack,” Connor said. “You don’t ask about one’s orientation.”
“I just did,” he said proudly.
“It’s okay,” I replied, thinking we’d already talked about my cocksucking, so sexual orientation seems like a mild inquisition in comparison. “It’s no secret. I’m bi. Amanda will have to tell about herself.” I looked over at her still talking to Missy in the corner.
“Cool,” Jack said.
“I think we’re all wondering,” Tyler said, “how we can get a piece of this too.”
I hadn’t expected that question, perhaps should have. I knew better than to say no. “You’ll have to ask her,” I finally said.
They had more to ask me, mostly about what it was like being submissive. I knew they were angling for more sexual details. Now I just wanted to get out of there, but managed to find a voice to answer a little, not getting into anything too explicitly.
Amanda was finally done with her unusually long conversation with Missy. Returning to the table, she said, “I’m picking up the tab tonight, guys. This has been most enjoyable.”
Presently, Missy returned with our last-call drinks, and I started in on my third bourbon, more alcohol than I usually have in a night. As Missy left, she closed the sliding doors to the side room.
“There is one more thing,” Amanda announced. “Something Shae does not know about.”
It almost sounded like a final surprise at a birthday party, and I wondered for a moment if she was going to reward me with something for getting through the evening with this gang of four.
“She had four parts to her confession tonight. She got through them and did them well.”
Oddly, Jack started clapping, but the others followed suit. This felt to me cringe-worthy and awkward.
“So,” Amanda went on, “there’s a fifth part to her punishment.” She turned to me. Shae, I want you to arrange yourself across my lap.”
I looked at her in embarrassed horror. “Please no,” I begged in a hushed voice.
“Afraid so, slave-girl.”
“Do we have to do this?” I whispered. “Really?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice low and hard.
Again, I couldn’t raise my eyes to look at anyone. I reached for my bourbon, taking a gulp, then another in quick succession. It would dull my physical pain but not my humiliation. I stood, a bit dizzy now, and somehow slid my body across Amanda’s lap.
“Seven spanks,” she declared, “one for each day you failed to post a notification.”
I heard chairs slide across the floor as the guys stood to get a better look. Someone walked around and stood behind Amanda, watching over her shoulder.
I felt Amanda pull up my denim skirt around my waist. I uttered a warbled, feeble protest. I could feel the air of the room against the back of my thighs.
“No panties,” I remember hearing Jack say.
God. I could feel the slit of my pussy exposed from behind, and knew they all were gazing at it.
Amanda’s flat palm landed against my ass cheeks. I yelped. I realized now the reason for the closed doors.
“Holy shit,” someone said.
There was a second spank, and the guys started counting.
Her hits were not hard, that isn’t her style, but it wasn’t the point. My humiliation was the point — the whole point of the evening. If I ever saw any of them again, and I prayed I wouldn’t, I knew they would see my face and associate it with this moment — this picture of my reddened ass cheeks and my pale pussy lips peeking out.
It was another forever in an evening of forever. Across her lap, looking down, I tried to block it out, futilely trying to memorize the grain of the wood floor.
I will perhaps never understand the flood of different feelings from being spanked. There is something about being an adult woman who is spanked that is utterly humiliating. For it to be done in a public place with others observing turns the humiliation into shame. It’s actually a kind of horror.
Yet for me as a submissive, it is also deeply fulfilling in some mysterious way. It is maybe the perfect nexus of being dominated by another, diminished to this, my bare ass moon-faced to a gang of adult boys. And with this submissive fulfillment comes, strangely, eroticism. I am damnably aroused in this very moment of horror.
So, when later in another time and place someone asks if I like being spanked, how do I answer? It’s horrifying in a way that I would never wish to endure again. It’s a deep humiliation to be an adult woman spanked like a disobedient child in front of a public group of watchers. Yet it arouses me, profoundly, sort of the spark-point of nuclear fission for a submissive like me. And my very arousal from such a humiliating horror becomes itself more deeply shaming.
How do I answer if I like this or not?
As I memorized the bar floor, tears came to my eyes, and I felt myself becoming wet elsewhere as well. I prayed no one would notice.
It was Jack (of course) who noticed. “She likes it. See?”
I wanted to yell out, but I didn’t, having no retort anyway. No I don’t like it, it’s not so simple as that. Yes I do like it, but it’s not so simple as that.
In the meantime my pussy becomes wet, and I have no answer for that either. It’s my submission in liquid form. I can’t help it, I wanted to yell out.
But I just squelched back the tears of my shame and absorbed the remaining spanks of my punishment.
After, she had me stand beside her as she held court at the table. She held my leash. My eyes glistened. She said some things about our life together as dominant and submissive. There were more questions. She made my spanking a teaching moment.
Not that the guys cared much about the philosophy of D/s, but at this point, she had their rapt attention.
I’m still processing what happened Friday night. That is what happened. I don’t yet know what it really means. I think it is a threshold of something beyond what it was.
Certainly I will not forget posting notifications ever again.