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Do You Have Any Regrets?

By: unpublaauthor



This is a true story that is slightly embellished. I've changed the names and some of the events to protect the innocent. I tried to portray what happened as close as possible to the actuality. This is not fiction and, thus, the "characters" are very flawed. Please keep that in mind and treat that as such. A polite suggestion: negative flaming "Anonymous" commenters who appear to have one purpose (not constructive criticism, rather to destroy the self-esteem of the writer) will have their posts removed. I have not been the only victim of this vicious behavior. Please be respectful of your fellow Literoticans.

A special thank you and shout out to chixjinxbdsm who wrote a story whose male lead character reminded me so much of "Chris" that I felt compelled to finally draft my unresolved feelings on paper. You are a rock star among Literoticans! I can't wait to find out what happens next to Aiden and Amy!

**************

He didn't just say that, did he? I looked around the table, aghast at what had come out of his mouth.

I caught my best friend's eye. She appeared equally shocked—and disgusted.

In contrast, I was shocked—but not disgusted. I was more aroused than anything, to be perfectly honest—and that scared me.

He stared at me through his glasses, his expression inscrutable, but, even after knowing him for only a few months, I could tell he was challenging me, daring me.

"Bend over this table for your birthday spanking," he had said in the busy lounge of the liberal arts building at our university.

We dominated—pardon the pun—the only table in the room, a four-top in waitressing terms. At the table sat my best friend Jessica, him (Chris), and me (Lisa). The fourth seat was blank.

I'm sure he saw in my eyes that I was imagining it and getting turned on. Our eyes locked for several seconds before I realized that Jess was staring pointedly at me.

"Um, but my birthday was yesterday," I demurred, brushing him off. It's true; it was. I had turned 22 yesterday. It was his 21st birthday today. Even the adult me felt a bit superior to that, that I was a year and a day older than he was. I also used it as an excuse, the difference in our ages, to not submit to his command.

He appeared disappointed and even a little disgusted that I refused. Inwardly, I cursed myself for being a coward.

When I was eighteen, I read my first spanking story. I knew, at that time, that I wanted to be spanked. By a man. Whether as a prelude to sex or as discipline, I didn't care; I just wanted it.

And I was ashamed of my deepest, darkest secret.

And now, four years later, I was given the perfect opportunity to be a spankee, and what do I do? I chicken out.

The conversation turned general after that. When the time came for us to move on to class, he watched me walk away. I felt his eyes on me, pale blue and piercing, as I turned to wave with a smile and wished him happy birthday again.

When Jess and I separated, studiously avoiding the conversational gambit Chris had mentioned, I collapsed against the wall, blushing furiously.

Two days earlier, Jess and I were on the phone, and his name was mentioned. He had attached himself to our group early in the semester. Chris didn't appear to have many friends. In fact, he appeared the awkward introvert. A nerd. But then, I was a nerd, as well.

We had started calling him "Icky Chris" to distinguish him from a man who had been in one of my classes the semester before.

I think one reason we called him icky was because he stared so hard at me every time he was around, making me extremely uncomfortable.

By no means was I used to masculine attention. As I said, I was a nerd. I was also overweight with overly large boobs, and I tended to hunch over to hide that fact. My hair was dark blonde slowly turning brown, and my eyes behind my glasses were an indeterminate shade of grayish green that I simply called hazel.

To me, the idea that he might be attracted to me was laughable. Until that day.

I went home that night and logged on to the website that was my newest secret obsession. The site was devoted to spanking stories, and I had masturbated to them for months.

Now, as I touched myself as I read, I was the woman draped over Chris's knee or bent over the table or desk with my skirt tossed up and my panties pulled down to my knees, forced to be immobile while he relentlessly spanked, paddled, switched, and caned my ample pale ass.

He became my newest obsession.

I began actively paying attention to his every word and movement.

Before that day, he was on the fringes of our group, someone who would make often inappropriate comments about hot button issues that were so awkward you felt something almost akin to pity for him. I had never singled him out for attention or notice, had never felt we had deep meaningful conversations one-on-one.

But all that changed. The girl who had, throughout middle school and high school, watched as friends and classmates dated and hooked up, while scratching out romantic stories in the library at lunch, now came into my own.

I'm not proud of many of the things I did to attempt garner his attention and favor, but I feel it best to detail what happened.

I was known for arriving early at the lounge, sometimes by seven even if my first class was after 11. I did this to secure an okay parking spot and to get the table. There was only one coveted table in the lounge. And it was unofficially ours.

Now, I was sure to arrive early every day. With baited breath but while trying to appear nonchalant, I would wait to hear his distinctive, almost dragging steps. Then, I would studiously appear studious, reading a book or scribbling in one of my ever-present spiral notebooks.

I took to wearing tight sweater tops and little skirts. I hung on his every word. Oddly enough, we discovered we shared many views. Both of us had grown up in traditional nuclear family backgrounds, and we both wanted the same thing for ourselves one day. Even though we were both children of the 80s, our expectations for family life were deeply grounded in sitcoms of the fifties, in which the husband was the breadwinner who came home to wifey who had done the housekeeping and cleaning but still managed to wear a perfect A-line dress an pearls to make her husband proud when he arrived home at 6 in the evening.

Not that I was at university to receive my MRS. degree. I had lofty career goals that he appeared to respect.

We both had a love of classical and contemporary fantasy literature. We both discovered the Harry Potter books at about the same time. In fact, in his awkwardness, he could have easily been an older version of Harry Potter.

Those hours in the lounge spent talking, just talking, added up. Soon, we were both calling each other friends, but then something happened that twisted things slightly.

Jess had a friend named Valerie who didn't like Chris. They completely rubbed each other the wrong way.

Chris wanted us all to "cut her off." He had espoused that for another friend of Jess's and mine that he had never met. Basically, he wanted us to have nothing to do with either of them—Valerie or our other friend.

I was called upon to be the peacekeeper. Jess was beyond frustrated with the situation by that point, so that left me, in the middle and unable to choose sides.

And part of me worried how I would deal if Chris decided to cut me off.

When I had something deep or difficult to discuss with him (and when the weather allowed it), we would go for walks. Part of this—a huge portion, in fact—was to ensure that he would not pop off a reckless statement (like asking me to bend over for a birthday spanking) in front of the crowded lounge.

I'm not sure, looking back on it now, that this tactic led to any self-preservation on my behalf. Quite the opposite, in fact.

It was during those moments of togetherness where he said some of the most outlandish things to me.

That day, when Jess beseeched, or rather demanded, that I intercede was one such event. Shrouded, partially hidden by the rows of crepe myrtles that flanked the walkway from the liberal arts building to the library, I begged him to be the bigger person, to bury the hatchet, and other trite statements involving Valerie.

At first, he wanted to argue, to accuse me of taking her side. I stood next to him, a few inches shorter, dressed in my little black skirt and cream cable knit sweater, a bit too tight through the boob area, and fired back before he could voice his response: "What do you want, me to get own on my knees and beg you?"

My outburst seemed to hold both of us in suspended animation. At the time, sheltered and virginal as I was, I had never done that, gone down on my knees before a man. But, I knew that mentioning it ranked right up there with his spanking directive for inappropriate behavior.

In the silence that followed, he stared into my eyes, for seconds, minutes, or hours; I couldn't tell you which. I simply knew that I had to backtrack again.

His eyebrow raised, he scanned down my body stopping briefly on my sweater, heaving at my breasts with an intoxicating mix of fear and desire. Meandering further to rest his eyes on the shorter than normal hemline of my skirt, he smiled slightly, that challenging glint in his eyes, and looked back up into my greenish-gray orbs, still mute with shock.

Lips that were thinly spread in a form of amusement I can only classify as cruel parted to form words, sounds, that could never be taken back.

Finally finding my voice, I rushed to elaborate. "I would do it, if simply to keep the peace—beg you, I mean."

Despite the chill of the first bite of autumn, causing the shift from skimpier shorts and tees to sweaters and, for Chris, his ever-present tan leather jacket that always seemed to remind me of a large overstuffed leather easy chair in a British lord's library or study, I felt heat flood my face. Without looking, I was sure that, from my eyes to my chin, my normally pale skin was fuchsia or even crimson.

He appeared to consider my offer. With a smirk, he looked knowingly in my eyes as he came to a decision.

Please, please don't make me drop down to my knees in front of you I pleaded to him with my eyes.

But another part, the core of me that was responsible for my pussy leaking onto my panties, dampening them, reveled in an additional show of his cruelty, his sadistic streak. Please, please, please make me kneel before you, that partition of me seemed determined to speak. 

By now, I had branched out from run-of-the-mill spanking stories to full-on BDSM textual porn. I knew, or at least I thought I knew, what that entailed.

At the last second, he relented. We both heard—and saw—people coming up the walkway toward us, so we veered to the right, making a loop to head back to the liberal arts building. No words were spoken until we neared the lounge again. And, this time, he broke the silence.

"For you, I'll do it; I'll keep the peace, I mean."

"For me?" My heart began to trip hammer and a blush warmed me almost to a fever point.

He nodded. "For you. I wouldn't do it for anyone else in that lounge, Lisa, not Jess and certainly not Valerie. You're the leader of us, the lounge lizards, the one around whom we all revolve."

I was stunned into silence. Words jammed up in my brain, but I could not give voice to them. Following Chris in to the lounge where Jess awaited the results of my semi-self-imposed mission, all I could manage was a tight smile and a nod.

Chris, by contrast, entered the room gregariously, as if nothing had ever been wrong, as if nothing momentous ha just happened outdoors.

But, I felt bereft and knew that nothing would be the same again. He walked me to my next class. As I smiled at him in farewell, still on autopilot until I was alone and could sort out my emotions, Chris handed me a slip of paper with seven digits. A phone number. "Yours?" I asked, still not able to comprehend everything.

"Mine. Write yours on this slip of paper," he directed, and just like that, I did, as if in a trance. "See you tomorrow," he said over his shoulder. He loped off down the hall, whistling.

*********************

Let me know if you think I should continue. I warn you: the interlude with "Chris" did not end happily. My BDSM journey has "ended" happily, however.

Do You Have Any Regrets? Ch. 02



This chapter introduces a new complication. As with the first chapter, this chapter is mostly autobiographical, to the extent that I am keeping it as autobiographical as I remember it.

***********

I had recently gotten a job with the continuing ed office at the university to proctor some distance learning courses. This was in the days before Skype, so the majority of my job was keeping my fingers crossed that the big, expensive, scary equipment worked and to make sure that I didn't break it.

The course that I proctored was being sent to a college campus a couple of hours away. On the other end was a proctor, a guy who seemed clueless about his job. Lost in my turbulent submissive love for Chris, I paid him no mind as I did the sound and video check. All I knew about him is that he seemed really tall, and his name was Alex.

"Hey, can y'all see and hear us?" I asked on a crisp November evening into the microphone.

Alex came into view. "Yeah, we can, and you're beautiful."

Total and complete shock stole over my features as his words registered. I tried to discount it, to pretend it didn't happen, but the female graduate students in the class on my end wouldn't let it die.

"Give him your number," they hissed when he asked for it. I tried to say no, that I already had someone I was interested in, but they put off my refusals.

So, that is how Alex got my phone number and called me later that evening after I returned home from work.

The first few conversations were the "getting to know you stuff." But, soon, the conversations became sexual, and we were having regular phone sex.

I wish now that I could go back in time and visit my 22-year-old self during one such conversation. A virgin having phone sex with a much more experienced guy had to be pretty hilarious.

Because Alex was leagues ahead of me in experience. Though only two years older than I was, he had slept with dozens of other girls. Looking back now, nearly thirteen years wiser, he was probably fucking girls in between phone conversations with me.

You are probably wondering what Chris thought of Alex. Well, he did not like the idea of him, for starters. He had overheard Jess and me talking about Alex's request for my phone number.

He went ballistic; he made several dire predictions of what he thought was going to happen.

But, bringing up Alex's name in front of Chris did not give me the one thing I had desperately hoped for when I childishly tried to make him jealous: Chris seemed more disgusted that I would talk to someone I had only met through an over-the-air medium than eaten up with jealousy.

As Alex's interest showed no sign of waning, I felt stuck. Chris no longer stared at my breasts or legs with the desire to do something deliciously dominating.

And Alex? I wasn't attracted to him. We had no common interests. When I finally got a word in to discuss my desires and sexual needs, he referred to them derisively as that "whips and chains stuff" and said, simply, that he was not into that and would never participate in it.

As Thanksgiving break faded into the end of another semester, I welcomed the lessening of the frequency and duration of Alex's calls.

With Alex's calls drying up, it seemed as if Chris's interest might be rekindling. Frosty walks, our conversations visible in the puffs of air we exhaled, returned.

And my nighttime fantasies and daydreams again heated up. Chris, imperious as the tsars of Russia, whipping my nude form, extracting pleas and tears and promises to never try to make him jealous again while he punished me severely.

Daydreams of him ordering me to my knees on one of our walks to service him orally where anyone could pass by danced constantly behind the edges of my vision to tease and tantalize my imagination and senses and distract me from whatever I should be focusing on.

The fall semester ended with a dinner among our group of friends: Jess, Chris, and me, and two of our other friends, both moms who were students. Chris and I parted that evening with charged glances and Merry Christmas wishes.

I had hopes that he would phone, but he never did during that long winter break.

Even though I was disappointed, I knew I would see him again during the spring semester. We had arranged to take two afternoon classes together, both education courses.

The first day of the spring semester dawned cold. I hurriedly ate and drank my breakfast, so that I could be the first one to the break room in the liberal arts building that day. Sure enough, I arrived with minutes to spare.

I tried to calm my pounding heart. The previous weeks' sleeps were crammed with images of my submission to him, what-if scenarios of the previous semester, played out for the delectation of me.

I was in love, or at least, lust with Chris. And, behind his enigmatic, piercing stare, I had absolutely no idea how he felt about me.

Soon, I heard his shuffling, scraping tread. I schooled my features to neutral, even though a part of my mind I had compartmentalized as his kneeled facing the door, already his.

Trying to keep it casual, I could almost pretend that my aloofness bothered him. Upset him. Maybe even fueled an enraged, dominant anger in him. But I blinked, and it was gone.

We talked of the break; I had a new nephew, my first, born over break. He talked of his sister and her child. The shared, easy comraderie returned to the fore.

And, yet, I could feel his eyes, when I was too cautious to look up (and instead was writing mindless early drafts of what would later become "Bitsy's Inhuman Submission"), burning holes through my clothes. 

I had dressed in what I felt was appropriate attire. There was a bit of a chill, it being January in Louisiana, so I wore my short black skirt and cream-colored cable knit sweater. This sweater had never fit correctly through the breast area. Even at that point, several sizes smaller than I am now, I deferred all of my clothing decisions to my boobs.

Intentionally or not, okay, intentionally, I remember holding my shoulders back, proud of my femininity and my voluptuous assets for the first time ever.

His voice faltered. I think he had been talking about our newest shared obsession, Harry Potter. We had discovered the books a couple of months ago almost at the same time.

I looked at him and saw his jaw, his resolve, tighten. The tightening of his jaw coupled with the piercing blue grey of his eyes turned my insides to jelly. In that moment, I would have done anything, promised him anything.

But that moment was shattered by the arrival of Jess.

Even now, reflecting thirteen years later, I don't know what Chris thought of Jess. In part, he seemed to accept her as an extension of me, and therefore, at least, tolerated her.

Jess, on the other hand, still thought of Chris (and, I'm sure if I were to ask her today, her opinion hasn't changed) still as the "icky Chris." She tolerated him only because she knew I was obsessed with him. His awkwardness didn't endear him to her at all, whereas I thought it adorable.

I also thought that his awkwardness was a front he threw up to ward people off, warn people away from knowing his true tendencies.

The next day, Wednesday, was our first shared class. We had planned to meet up at a nearby Mexican restaurant for a late lunch/early supper. Chris thought we were meeting up with everyone, but I manipulated the situation (begged Jess, in other words) to keep everyone else at bay.

We walked in to the restaurant, and the waitress seated us. Our conversation continued as if it had never stopped, even after a car ride apart. The waitress seemed to think we were together-together, not just two friends having a meal.

I was giddy. I had never been out on a date with a boy before. Yes, me, at the age of 22 had never been out on a date before.

And, even though this wasn't a date, per se, it sure felt like one. Restaurant. Check. Sitting in an intimate booth. Check. Guy staring inscrutably in turns at my eyes and my tits, check.

I think that's when he asked the startling question of why I laughed at his jokes. I had never thought of not laughing at his jokes, to be perfectly honest. But then I got to thinking: no one else laughed at them.

Again, the very sheltered 22-year-old me was very naïve when it came to boys and dating.

The assertion of his dominance reared its head when it came time to pay for the check. Both of us were poor college students (he was working his way through college and I was on loans), but he insisted, again with the look that he would take me over his knee if I attempted to refuse, again, on paying for the meal. He won the argument on the caveat that I pay next time.

He walked me back to my car at the restaurant before returning to his disheveled sedan. From the fogged up windows of my little Volkswagen Beetle, I watched him lope back to his car. And shivered internally.

Class passed by, as I sat beside him, in a haze. I stopped short of writing our names together in a mix of swirls and curlicues, but just barely. I, the meticulous Summa Cum Laude, 4.0 college-graduate student understood not one word the professor spoke. She could have been speaking Klingon Latin for all I knew.

My dreams were turbo-charged with erotic submission again that night and for several nights after. I took to reading more and more of the spanking stories, rubbing out orgasm after orgasm picturing me as the spankee and Chris as the spanker. 

I lived for Wednesdays and Thursdays because that meant that, not only would I see him in class, but we would also go out for lunch. People began speaking of us with our names joined with hyphens as a single unit. Even Jess noticed the inevitability of it.

And then came the day that changed EVERYTHING...

**********

Thanks to the excellent supporters who loved/liked chapter 1! This chapter is for you. The next chapter truly does/did change everything. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to comment constructively!



Do You Have Any Regrets? Ch. 03



I'm going to take a few liberties with the next few chapters. I really need to drag it out (the good times) to make up for the not-so-great times that followed.

**********

Looking back, nearly fourteen years ago, I remember that day with stark, breathless clarity. It was the final Wednesday in January, and I woke up even earlier than normal because I knew that Chris and I would be spending most of the day together.

I wore what, to me, was a revealing outfit. The little black skirt hugged my ass and thighs, the shortest thing other than shorts that I owned. To top it off, I wore a thin gauge short-sleeve sweater in a shade of blue just darker than his eyes.

After arriving on campus, I scribbled more about Bitsy and Stuart—at that time intended to be a spicy romance, not BDSM-charged erotica—and waited, my throat dry, parched.

Even the Dr. Pepper I sipped, another thing that we shared in common, did nothing to quench my thirst.

As he sidled up to the table, also sipping a Dr. Pepper, Chris smiled crookedly. "Great minds," he started to say, trailing off.

"And all that," I finished with a chuckle. He slid into the seat across from mine at that little speckled Formica table, and took the opportunity to study me.

Although we had never actually touched, I felt his visual caress, much as a sculptor would give his masterpiece. I gulped and found myself making a lame joke to cover up the awkwardness.

He laughed, more out of politeness probably (yet when had politeness ever stopped him?), more heartily than the quip warranted. Then, he cleared his throat. "So, is Jess going to be able to make it for dinner this afternoon?" he asked, all the while staring enigmatically at me.

I shook my head, appearing to be regretful at the "no." My own voice was quiet to cover up the fib. "She has to work in the lab this afternoon."

Nodding automatically, his gaze sharpened again like a hunter in scent range of its prey. Could he see through the lie? My heart pounded, and I decided he must be able to see its racing thump in the flutter of my sweater. He let the moment hold a bit too long—long enough to make me squirm, before responding, "That's a shame."

I nodded, as if in a trance. He knows, I castigated myself; he knows, and he's just toying with you. He knows you're lying, and he gets off on watching you like this, this uncomfortable, wiggling, naughty puppy.

And, deep within my mind, a quiet voice spoke up, the devil's advocate: and you get off on what he's doing to you.

Unable to give that thought any credence, I squelched it back down, but not before the images of dreams, hot and erotic, raced through my mind. I felt my panties grow wet. I prayed desperately that he couldn't smell the scent of my arousal.

He was still staring, waiting for a response, pat though it might be. What had he said? My mind raced until I remembered his last sentence. "Yes," I rushed out, "a shame."

Shortly after that, we went our separate ways for our morning classes. I impatiently stared at the clock, for decades, it seemed, until the morning routine of classes was over.

Not wanting to wait for the mass of people at the elevator to travel before I could go, I raced down the stairs from the fourth floor to the first, almost tripping over my own feet in my haste. His classes had been long over. Coming to a dead stop inside the doorway, I peeked inside.

He was sitting in his seat, bent over a book. I tried to see the cover binding from where I stood, but the casualness of his pose hid it from me.

I walked up to the table, not saying a word and stopped just short of sitting down. Using one long imperious finger to still the page, he said, without looking up, "I saw you there. At the door."

Slinking hopefully just gracefully enough that my skirt did not fly up revealing to Chris the color and style of my undies, I pressed my bottom to the chair across from his.

I decided to play it coy. "Well, if you saw me, why didn't you say anything?"

He arched one eyebrow. "Why didn't you?"

"Maybe because I was being a polite Southern belle," I teased, but inside I was quaking.

He chortled, and I started to pull out my omnipresent writing notebook. Chris snorted. "Are you writing about THEM again?" he asked, referring to Stuart and Bitsy.

"Yes," I said, not seeing what the problem was.

"You're writing him wrong, you know," he sighed, a sigh of frustration with me. This was not the first time I had heard such a sigh.

I was outraged—and hurt. Chris had offered—okay, I begged and wheedled with him to—to read the story as I had written it. "What do you mean?" my voice quavered. I would not cry.

"He needs to be stronger. More dominant. And he wouldn't kiss her hand and stuff. He'd spank her bottom when she was too much of a brat." He smirked, that same smirk that curled his lips on his birthday when he issued the challenge.

That I had chickened out of. Coward.

I looked at him—really looked at him, my eyes bright with unshed tears for a long moment. Then, I began writing, all the while allowing his words to rain down on me.

"She's perfect, though," Chris added, trying to break the silence. I didn't answer; I couldn't. Because he was right. In so many ways, Stuart was him. That's why I wanted him to read the story so badly; it put into words what I couldn't bring myself to say.

His leg began shaking, a sure sign that he was either bored, uncomfortable, or hungry. Possibly, he was a combination of all three.

I wrote a few minutes more, mindless scribbles, until I had endured enough. "Are you ready to go?" I seethed at him.

Taken aback, he nodded. "Are we taking your car, or mine?"

"I'll drive," I chose. We walked to the parking lot, close but not touching. Not for the first time, I wondered how we appeared to other people. Strangers? Acquaintances? Friends? Something more?

Snorting, I almost laughed out loud. How wrong they would be if they thought that. I unlocked my door, crawled in to the tiny Beetle, and pushed down the lock on the passenger's side door.

While Chris entered the car, I buckled my seatbelt. Then, I noticed his gaze on my right leg. I looked down and let out a strangled gasp. My skirt had hiked up to just below the panty line. "Sorry," I muttered, my face flaming scarlet (according to the rearview mirror). I yanked my skirt back down.

I closed my eyes, unable to face looking at him. It may not seem this way now, through my stories, but to all outward appearances I was then (and still largely am, now) a modest person. And Chris seemed to expect, if not demand, that modesty in his friends and acquaintances.

Only when I heard a bit of a strangled sound from him that sounded as if it came from the back of his throat did I open my eyes. My gaze was focused downward. The fingers of his left hand were clenched, making almost claws against his thigh. I glanced up, and his eyes started straight ahead, the lower line of his jaw, dusted with afternoon stubble, jumped reflexively.

My stomach churning with dread—not the best condition for eating Mexican food, I started the car which puttered to life.

The restaurant wasn't very far away, a drive that we undertook in stony silence. Equally voiceless, we exited the car, my car door slamming with a bit more force than necessary, and entered the restaurant.

Or rather, Chris held the door open for me and I felt his hand brush against my hair as I walked in the restaurant.

The sparks of electricity from that on-purpose contact kept me quiet as we entered the restaurant. The waitress, who had served us before and seemed to consider us in the "couples" category as she kept bringing us a single check, seated us at the table I was starting to think of as "our" table.

She gave me a menu, but did not give Chris one. The quesadillas he would order were not on the menu. She knew I ordered something different every time.

In a flash, she was back with Dr. Peppers in plastic cups on ice. We sipped silently as I perused the menu. I memorized the number I wanted off of the lunch menu, just as he called my name.

I looked up and was lost in the sharpness of his blue gaze. Did I imagine the probing, searching, yearning?

I had to break the uncomfortable silence. I asked him more about his ex-girlfriend. His ex-girlfriend had been one of those girls that women who are proud of our gender want to disassociate with. She had cheated on him, gotten pregnant, and came crawling back to him. He had been prepared to take her back, until his father intervened.

The waitress came to take our orders amid the charged discussion concerning his ex. He told her his order (the chicken and mushroom quesadillas), and I offered up mine (the number 2).

When she scuttled off, I took a bite of a salsa covered chip. Chris took a sip of his soda.

And, then, he opened my mouth to say the words I never thought he would say. "So, what about you and me? Do you want to give it a go?"

*******

To be continued. You didn't really think I was going to let you savor the whole day in one bite, did you? Patience, my lovelies. Again, I'm going to take some liberties with Chapter 4 and a few later chapters. I can't stand to have it end the way it did quite yet.

Thanks, as always, to chixjinxbdsm for being THE rockstar of all Lit writers and pulling me out of my funk and encouraging me to continue. Aiden and Amy are my role models, and yes, that is true. You rock!

Thanks to Kristofe for encouraging me to write...and write...and write. You are an awesome collaborator!

Thanks to all those who have read any of my other works and this one and continue to do so. You warm my heart.



Do You Have Any Regrets? Ch. 04



This version picks up immediately after chapter 3 ends. In the interest of making a happy ending for one of my most loyal readers, I have definitely given up the 99% true description on this story. This one is pure fluff. Enjoy!

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"So, what about you and me?" Do you want to give it a go?"

His words ushered in a new silence. He didn't just say that—surely. Blue steely eyes locked with my hazel ones like a hunter sighting his prey. I looked down, breaking my gaze from his.

"Lisa?"

I swallowed hard, almost choking on my chip. The logical part of my brain decided quickly that he didn't mean what I interpreted his words to mean. "Give what a go?" I responded lightly as the silence stretched far beyond what could be considered comfortable.

He looked at me as if I were a puzzle he was attempting to solve. "Us," he explained. Then, he attempted to elaborate. "You and me."

My heart trip-hammered. Part of me still discounted what he meant—in an attempt not to risk our friendship. "What are you trying to say, Chris?" my voice asked, anything but steady.

He reached his hand with its long fingers and covered my cold and trembling ones. His warmth seemed to seep into my bones. "Everyone already sees that we should be together, a couple. How about we give it a try?"

Outwardly, I tried to remain calm. If he's joking or intending something else, I wouldn't be able to "deal" if he didn't truly want us as a couple, or, worse, changed his mind. "You mean, you and me—dating?"

"Yes." No prevaricating. No confusion in that answer. Even as his hand engulfed mine in warmth, his eyes molded over my curves in a visual caress. "I've been attracted to you since I first saw you."

The waitress chose that moment to interrupt our charged silence with the arrival of our food. "How is everything?" she queried expectantly.

Chris murmured something noncommittal and then refocused his attention solely on me. "Lisa? What do you want?"

The part of me that had long held out hope and dreamed of this day beamed sunnily. "Are you sure, Chris? Because my answer is 'yes' if you are."

He slid his food to the spot on the table beside mine and slunk into the booth beside me. His left arm slid around my shoulders, and I felt the fingers of his left hand tangle in my hair, playing and tugging. With his other hand, he picked up a quesadilla wedge and started to eat.

Why my eye looked up at our waitress, I don't know, but she smiled and winked at me. I smiled back, sliding my hand up to my enchilada plate to start eating. The silence between Chris and me was now comfortable again.

It was a few minutes later when I realized that Chris had slowly, inexorably guided my head to his left shoulder using pressure from his left arm. I looked up at him just as he looked down. His eyes filled my field of vision as his lips touched mine. Our first kiss.

From a kiss's standpoint, it was chaste. His closed lips pressed into mine. It wasn't passionless by any means. My lips trembled beneath his, parted to ask a question, and he pulled back and nonchalantly took a sip of his Dr. Pepper.

I sat there in shock. My first kiss, and he seemed unmoved. He signaled with his eyes for the waitress to bring the check, and she did, sliding it to Chris with a knowing grin at both of us.

For once, I didn't make a big deal out of him paying the check. I was numb. What was it he wanted from me?

He stood, and I followed his lead. As he stepped close to me, he slid his arm half around me, more down my back, propelling me forward with a light touch at my lower back. As we neared the door of the restaurant, his hand slid lower, palming and then cupping my ass. Chris bent and whispered in my ear, his breath and lips tickling the delicate skin, "I love to watch your ass sway, but I've decided that touching it's my favorite."

His palm left my ass briefly, but, then, it reconnected solidly. I let out a strangled yelp at the deliberate spank. Every erotic dream since October slammed through my mind as those fantasies began to come true.

Chris growled—or groaned; I wasn't sure which. "That is what I wanted to do to that enticing ass ever since it tempted me on my birthday," his whisper rough.

I didn't say anything—I couldn't. All I could do focus on was not having my panties soaked with arousal, not melting into a puddle, and not begging him to do it again but this time "harder, please."

He took the keys from my listless fingers and unlocked both car doors. After he made sure I was safely in the driver's seat, he then slid lankily into the passenger seat.

When I reached to slide the key in the ignition, his hand covered mine, stilling it. "How about we be bad for once and skip class?" a hint of a naughty? smile played on his lips.

"Skip? Class? Why?" I shot back, aghast. This was not typical Chris-like behavior.

His hand slid down to my knee, scooting my skirt further up my leg, massaging my thigh as he moved it. When it was almost back up to my panty line (where it had been on the way to the restaurant), he paused, stroking my thigh to hold the skirt in place. "We need to talk about how we see our relationship."

He looked in my eyes, his gaze dark with hidden passions. My heart, ignoring the darkness, danced in my chest. Chris said "relationship," I mentally enthused.

"Where should we go, then?" I wondered aloud.

"My parents are at work, so they won't be home for a while," he ventured.

"But we have to go get your car from school," was my timid response, not thinking of what might happen if we were alone, at his house, without anyone else there.

He agreed, and I drove, letting our favorite light rock station fill our silence. When I turned the key off, I turned toward him. Chris had already removed his seat belt.

The turbulent emotion I saw earlier should have clued me in to what he was planning. Instead, when he swooped to kiss me, my mouth was open for his tongue.

This was the kiss dreams were made of, I quickly realized. At turns drugging and passionate, his lips feasted on mine. His hands came up to grip my head, not roughly, but, without mistake, my body knew who was in control.

And it was definitely not me.

One hand slid down my cheek, stroking my neck, before cupping a breast on the outside of my clothes. He had definitely noticed my breasts, and I reaped the benefits of that then. He petted, squeezed, and lifted each for his (clothed) inspection. He found my nipples through the thin sweater and the even thinner bra and pinched and flicked them. 

His mouth swallowed my moan of pleasure from the light nipple play. Even though we were both still virgins, his mouth revealed that these kisses were definitely not his first. I vaguely remembered his ex-girlfriend as he pulled back slightly, his teeth catching my lower lip and tugging playfully.

Pulling away reluctantly, I took a break to breathe harshly. When I looked up, his eyes were examining me curiously. "Are you okay?"

My lips trembled into a semblance of a smile. "I'm great," I chirped. "Are you okay?"

"You know? I really am." He grinned his infectious grin.

"Are we going to be okay?" I asked, even more hesitantly.

He smiled, the supremely confident grin that only I was usually privy to. "We ARE okay." With that, he bent to cover his mouth with mine, voraciously, this time. Unlike his previous kisses, he slid his hand slowly beneath my skirt, pushing it up.

When his hand reached past the edge of my panties, I broke away. "Sh-shouldn't we get to your house?"

His breathing was no more steady than mine. "Yes, but I need to wait a few minutes."

Those who know me now would be surprised to see how innocently I responded to his (now, years later, extremely obvious) statement. "What's wrong?" I asked brightly inquisitive.

"I'm hard." At my very confused look, he explained, "You got me all worked up, pet."

Something in the way he said "pet" had me squirming in my seat; the part of me who had read works of BDSM erotica realized what the term meant. My mind careened in a million different directions. He had said we had to talk. Is that what he meant? That I would be his pet, in the D/s sense?

With one final brush of his lips, he left my car and loped over to his broke down special.

I followed him to his house a few miles away; I had never been there, but I had talked to his mom on the phone once when I called to ask Chris about an assignment for class. 

He met me at my car door, and we walked, hand-in-hand, to his front door and then to his room once he unlocked the door. Inherently curious, my eyes darted around his room, cataloguing, memorizing. Like my room, Chris's room had been taken over by books. Books were everywhere: on bookshelves, on his bedside table, stacked up in the corners, and even a stack at the foot of his bed.

My brain stuttered and stalled at the sight of his bed because I could easily imagine him and me rumpling the sheets there together. Or, if his calling me pet were any indication, even more deviant acts.

As he sat down on said bed, he patted the quilt right beside him for me to sit. My heart thundering in my chest to the point that I could feel it in my throat, I sat and was immediately caught up in his embrace and pulled onto his lap.

"THIS is where you belong, pet," he said, a rigid resonance that I had never heard in his voice before. Chris's index finger tapped on my chin and then lifted it, caressing my lips with his for delicious moments before he lifted his head. 

"Now, to talk about where I see our relationship going," he said, this time as out of breath as I was. Beneath my ass, I felt his erection lengthen and harden and point definitively toward my ass. When I "accidentally" wiggled on his lap, he groaned and popped me lightly on my upturned and exposed ass cheek.

That made me yelp, but when he rubbed the slight sting out, I purred beneath his touch. "You and I have some unfinished business," Chris stated with a grin evident in his voice...and on his face.

"Unfinished business?" I asked, not sure what he meant. 

With a nod, he answered, "Uh huh. Your birthday spankings. You chickened out. As my pet, you will never be able to escape earned spankings. If you had taken them like a good girl in October, they would have been delivered over a clothed bottom. Now, you will experience them on the bare."

The silence of the room was unbroken, other than the sound of my harsh breaths from the arousal his words had caused. My eye lashes drifted downward, allowing me to view the books on his bedside table: The Loving Dominant and several other very telling titles.

Was I in over my head? He and I both loved to research, and Chris had obviously researched something that I figured held his interest. But was I ready to be the sub to his "loving Dominant"? 

"What am I to do, Chris?" To my shame, my voice was breathy, betraying my arousal to him.

His grin now held more than a hint of darkness that bumped my unease up quite a bit. "You are going to drape yourself over me, face down on the bed...your ass raised on my lap. You are going to remain perfectly still, like a good girl, receiving your birthday spankings. You are going to say 'thank you' when I pull your skirt up and slip your panties down to your knees. You are going to say 'thank you' at the end even though the added effect of the thwacks may cause your gorgeous eyes to tear up. Is that understood, pet?"

"Yes, Chris," I breathed.

He tsked. "We will discuss the most appropriate way to address me during a session later." Chris slid his arms down my body, stroking over my curves almost regretfully. "Now, pet, time to accept your birthday spankings like a big girl."

With a less than graceful lurch, I positioned myself over his lap, ass perched up on his legs. I could feel him, hard as a spike against my already moist pussy. Tsking again, he positioned me to his liking: hands clasped together far beyond my head, arms straight with legs straight on the other side of his lap.

Somehow in just the positioning for an OTK or over-the-knee spanking that I had read and dreamed about—especially with Chris—I became mute. Chris, however, kept up a running commentary. "This is the perfect position to receive your birthday spankings. I don't know what I was thinking in October expecting you to bend over the table. No wonder you refused. All of those people? A pet's first spanking from her Dom should be given in private."

My mind registered a few things from it. Obviously, his calling me "pet" was intentional, not a careless nickname. My FIRST spanking? Her Dom? I would have risen in alarm—and desires and daydreams realized—had he not been running gentle massaging hands down my back, on my ass, and own to my knees on my thighs. My skin began to tingle beneath his touch.

Everything in the good girl part of me screamed when he lifted up my black skirt, flipping it completely over my ass. No man had ever seen just my panties, and the fact that it was Chris was kind of an out-of-body experience. His hand rested caressingly on my panty-covered twin globes.

"If you want me to stop, if you simply cannot take it, I want you to say 'green tea.' That will be our safe phrase. I'm not going to gag you because I want to hear your reactions for all twenty-three swats."

"Twenty-three?" I started to get up in alarm, but his hand stayed me. What really stopped me was his sliding fingers that breached beneath my panty line and tickled the bare skin beneath.

His answer was a chuckle. "Yes, pet, twenty-three. That's twenty-two and one to grow on. That should be plenty, unless you become bratty and need a few punishment swats with the belt."

"Th-th-the belt?" I couldn't even get the words out.

"Yes, pet. The belt. Bad girls get the belt when they are punished. Now, I believe I said this spanking would be on the bare." He suited his words to actions by hooking my panties with one finger and slowly but unceremoniously pulling them down until they reached my knees.

I had never been naked in front of a man my age before. I had never been bare arsed. And here I was, bare assed and ready to receive the most sensual of birthday spankings. I knew that, at the end of these spankings, my life would never be the same again.

My flushed, blushing cheeks buried into the quilt. I breathed in; I could smell his scent. "I don't expect you to count. I will do so for you. I want you to focus instead on savoring each sensation of pleasure-pain, my sweet little masochist."

Thankfully, my already blushing face was hidden, for when he called me his sweet little masochist, my cheeks were on fire.

When he lifted his hand, I almost moaned in frustration, missing the slow tender circles he had been rubbing on my bare ass. As his hand connected with my ass in a wickedly hard smack on my left ass cheek, I yelped and jumped—and tried to get up. "One. No, no, pet. You don't get to get up. We've only just begun."

The sting was indescribable. As a girl growing up, I was truly good, and had never really earned a spanking. The threat was enough to make me behave. Now, as I felt the volley of the next few smacks, hard, stinging smacks that landed solidly with my now dancing red ass cheeks.

I hollered after the tenth one. There was no way to hold back the holler. His hands hit low on my ass where my pussy joined my quivering butt.

The fifteenth elicited sobbing and tears from me. My ass felt literally on fire. There didn't seem to be an end in sight. 

At twenty, I was a mewling mass of goo. Both ends of me leaked (my eyes a never-ending stream of tears and my pussy with juices) when he paused to rub and soothe for a minute. "Now, pet, you've been such a good girl taking your birthday spanks like a champ. Just three more. Two will be the hardest you've had so far on that lovely red bottom. The 'one to grow on' will be administered to that sweet area between your thighs that's been gushing with approval since I started."

The last two were in quick succession right on my sit spot. Because he had paused, my body had started to feel everything even more fully, so the last two were extra painful. I howled like a trapped, injured animal.

"Now," Chris directed, his tone businesslike, "I need you to lie down against the pillows on the bed, on your back. I need you to lift up your knees and spread your legs for your one to grow on." When I appeared to balk at being so exposed, he held up a hand to silence me. "You have a choice. Three actually. You can say 'green tea,' and I stop now. You can quiet down RIGHT NOW and take that thwack on your pussy like a good girl. Or you can continue on with your whining, and I will figure out if I use my belt or a ruler there instead."

I quietened down instantly as he knew I would. Shuffling, again without much grace to the position he directed, I closed my eyes in shame to be so revealed to him. My burning, raw ass protested being sat upon; waves of scorching dizzying pain made me whimper.

Realizing that my panties inhibited his commands, he slid them the rest of the way off. Then, he positioned me a bit closer to his liking. His eyes never left my pussy, and I never stopped blushing. Not even when he took a gentle finger and traced a finger around my quivering wet pussy lips where they gaped. And especially not when that same finger stroked my clit until my whimpers became even more closely tied to pleasure.

And as he slipped his questing finger into my virgin pussy, I almost blacked out. I had played with my clit before; don't get me wrong. But I had not ever experienced anything going into my pussy. Ever! "So wet," he said to himself with something like wonder.

But soon, that nearly stoic mask of domination set over his features. "One. Just one to grow on, but you will remember this one, pet." His hand reared up and slammed down with shuddering accuracy. My clit took the full brunt of it; by pushing that secret naughty button, I convulsed beneath his hand, orgasming instantly.

As shocked as I was, Chris was stupefied. I guess I was even more shocked by his consternation. HE was the one who called me pet, masochist. Surely he could realize what that smack would do?

Satisfaction soon replaced the confusion. He pulled me into his arms and onto his lap, as if I were a child who was sobbing over a nightmare. With trembling, reverent fingertips, he stroked my still-burning pussy. 

"Such a sweet, sweet pet," he crooned. "You took it so well. I'm so proud of you." Through this, his fingers petted and soothed my still twitching clit. Chris then guided me down to the over-the-knee spanking position and inspected my still-burning ass. I felt something cool and wet squirt onto my ass then shivered in bliss as it spread, to cool and soothe my enflamed cheeks. "It has a bit of peppermint oil in it to cool," Chris sensed my unspoken question. "To make my pet feel good."

All too soon, the soothing was over, and I was again placed on his lap and snuggled to him. He rested his chin on top of my hair. "And now, pet, we need to talk."

Those words shook me out of my comforted cocoon. "That sounds ominous."

"I feel better about it now than I did before your spanking," he fired back. "For a long time," he began, "I've known that I was different from most people. I wanted to inflict pain, physical and emotional, on others for the purposes of revealing masochistic feelings in those them. And then I met you."

His hands began stroking my back, shoulders to ass and back again as I focused on his words. "I'm a Dom," he explained, "with all that entails. I've been looking for a submissive to be the light to my darkness since realizing who and what I was. You are that sub. My pet. My masochist."

"What does that mean, for us?" I asked, afraid of his answer.




Do You Have Any Regrets? Ch. 04



Chris took a long slow breath. "It means that outwardly, in public, we will be a couple like every other couple. We will go on dates. We will hold hands. We will snuggle and hug and kiss. In private, however, you will be MINE. If we are in a private place, you will strip completely and kneel before me, hands behind your back with your chest jutting out, eyes expectantly raised to me awaiting your commands.

"You will follow those commands, sexually and non-sexually. I will control as many aspects of your life as I see fit. We WILL have sex, not tonight, but we will. I will show you again and again that pain can equal the greatest pleasure, as you already partially know. At some point in the very near future, I will collar you, placing this collar around your neck for you to wear in public," he continued, pulling out a small box and opening it. Inside lay a black lace choker with a single teardrop pearl. I couldn't tear my eyes away from it until he snapped the case shut a moment later. "You will obey me in all things I command of you, unless you truly cannot. You will then say 'green tea,' and all play in that area will cease.

"You will have rules that we will discuss tomorrow that you will obey and follow at all times. You will address me by my name in public, but you will call me Sir or Master in private. Is all of that clear?"

I couldn't answer for a few moments, trying to formulate my response and quell my inner turmoil. Even though I knew that I was submissive, a masochist, and a woman obsessed with him, I wondered if I had the courage to do what my mind and heart were begging me to do.

"Lisa? Pet?" he whispered, his voice unsure for the first time since the restaurant.

His hesitation spurred me to what I must do. I slid off of his lap. With trembling fingers, I reached behind me to unfasten my skirt and shimmy it down over my hips to pool at my feet. I stepped out of my flats and placed them by his shoes by the bed. My skirt I folded and placed over his desk chair.

I stood before him again, naked from the waist down. Part of me rationalized this by saying that he had already seen and felt all of that area today, so, therefore, there was no reason to be ashamed. I gritted my teeth for what was coming next. My fingers clenched on the bottom of my short-sleeved tight sweater and I pulled it up and over my head without ceremony. Maybe one day I would learn to strip for him to entice, but not today.

My face felt on fire, and I bit my lower lip hard as I stood before him wearing only a bra and my glasses. I felt his eyes observing me, memorizing me. The sexy lacy bra that I had never imagined he would see filled to overflowing with my too-large breasts was meant to give me confidence today. I reached for the front closure that would cause my breasts to spill out for his view and unhooked it. Shyly, I covered my breasts, trying to hide from his view.

"Your body is mine, pet. Don't hide from me," he ground out. I removed my hands and placed them behind my back. I then slid down to a kneel and jutted my breasts out seemingly proudly. My eyes found his, and I whispered the words that I had longed to say to him, seemingly forever, and that he demanded to hear.

"Yes, Sir."

***************************

The events in this chapter contained very little of what really happened. One reader asked me to make it happy, and I decided to write it as I wished it would have happened. The reality, especially concerning Alex, was far darker.

I will continue the story in this vein, if you wish. Please let me know.