Then he rubbed it in, and I liked it that he did that but I worried if it would break down with the heat of my body and smell bad in a few hours – it didn’t, though. It mixed with the Bio Oil that was already there and formed patterns. I didn’t see this as I was l wasn’t looking; I was pretty still, as I get occassionally when I’m apprehensive/surprised/disgusted though I wasn’t feeling any of that towards Roland. I think maybe I didn’t think we’d be doing this today, just spanking, but I dunno why I went still. I also felt powerful, precious, safe, and have no idea why I felt that either. Of course, the fact that I’d just had my last ever exam and had been ambushed by the police who I’d feared would cart me off to the mental asylum for days (well, local psychiatric ward for a couple hours’ observation, but I was not thinking clearly) may have affected my mental state. And the euphoria, excitement and perhaps tension (?) associated with the deal itself.
Then – no, it was before that, just before he came on me – sorry, people – he’d been using his pencil-pushing businessguy fingers on me, as I was lying on my back. It didn’t bring me to orgasm because I need fantasy to do that and he wasn’t being gentle enough – I’m very sensitive; perhaps I have more nerves than average? – and I tried to show him what to do but he wasn’t great at this. Of course, I wasn’t fantasising which is why it didn’t work. I had my eyes closed, though, and it was good and I tried to focus my attention solely on what he was doing, that’s why I closed my eyes. Then he was doing it while sucking my nipples, which are like really sensitive so it hurt but a good kind of hurt. I really liked this bit. If I’m ever a millionaire I will employ five sex servants to do this for me. Oh, wait…it’d be hard for five hands to get in there at the same time… and Employment Law is definitely against this sort of thing. I wonder if Roland is a millionaire. But if he was, he’d have a Rolls Royce, Bentley or Ferrari so maybe not. But then again, he’s going to get an Aston Martin so maybe. This useless backward-marching government of ours should make a law that all millionaires have to wear a tag on their shirt that says “millionaire” so we know which guys to fuck. And why not – they only make radical new laws/changes and change the laws/welfare state every other week anyway. But they won’t, because it’d be embarassing to have so many millionaire tags in Parliament. So I loved it when Roland was doing this, except when he jabbed my nipple with his finger so I flipped over so I was lying on my tummy and I think that’s when he got the idea to spray it all over my bum.
Roland made me lie on the sofa and he wrote “slut” in big, red letters across my backside; I knew which word he was writing by the feel of the pen strokes. Then he wrote “spanked and caned” in smaller letters. When I twisted my head round, I saw a black line from the cane and other stripes and blotches, but it wasn’t bright red, just dark pink because I’m toffee/caramel coloured; Roland had predicted as much. This reminded me of my conservative (Asian) upbringing and made me smile that I was half-naked in an office after being filmed getting a spanking for selling my virginity; it’s odd, y’know? Sometimes you can’t tell what your kids are going to turn out like.
Then after I cleaned myself off a bit at the sink, Roland said “Now let’s get you a deposit. Like you’re a Ferrari – I’ve got to put a deposit on you.” We went to the other bit of his office and he wrote out the cheque and I said it was funny how we write “only” after the amount so it read “One thousand pounds only” – it was hilarious (to poor people like me) but then I said he must’ve written cheques for a “million pounds only” or whatever. But he hasn’t, because usually it’s someone else who does that. I’d been curious to see his office/desk, for some really weird reason I can’t even explain to myself; after all, offices are pretty boring, minimally decorated, impersonal things to be in. I stuffed the precious bit of paper in my wallet. Isn’t it weird how we use paper for money? And all our money is invisible and doesn’t actually exist; there’s no physical accounts with your name on it like Gringotts in Harry Potter; fiat currency means that your account balance is just figures, a promise that the bank will give you that much. Didn’t Nostradamus say “invisible coins will lead to the joy of many who spend them”?
Anyways, Roland drove me to a bus stop. He drives fast. We were talking about implements and the spanking. He said I took it pretty well.On the way he said that the last time he spanked me he could still feel it on his hand for 3 days! He said that after the consummation, if I still want to continue, each time it’ll be photography and afterwards we will touch each other and fuck; I knew that already; maybe he already said that, or maybe I just knew. I mean nobody’s stupid enough to pay 1k for not having sex, and I wouldn’t take 1k off someone just for taking nude pics of me, so that’s what I’d assumed he meant anyway. And although 1k is cheap for sex, if he’s already given me 4k then it’s not so bad. He said was that okay and squeezed my leg and I said yeah. Like, what else would he want to see me for and be willing to pay for it? We stopped near the swimming pool – near Pollock Halls. I was keeping an eye out for the bus, it’s very unpredictable. Roland was communicating – not just with words, but with all of Roland – that he was worried I hadn’t enjoyed it. He was 100% sure of this. I think he was concerned and also admired me in some way; although his concern was an obstacle to my goal of selling myself (if he decided to stop) it also touched me a lot. It actually reaffirmed my belief that he was the right person to sell it to – not just the most available, easiest, least risky, geographically convenient person to sell it to, but the right one. He wasn’t just the lazy option anymore, or even the person I felt comfortable around and liked; I realised he was in this for the right reasons and not only to make art or fuck. I said I did like it and it was one of the best days of my life, but he said “I think the lady protests too much.”
“That’s from MacBeth, isn’t it? Methinks the lady doth protest too much? You think I didn’t enjoy it?”
“Well, when I asked you to masturbate me you hesitated. And you’ve reached for the doorhandle twice now.”
“That’s because I thought I saw the bus coming. And afterwards I did want to do it, it was just that the room was too cold.”
He was grinning, but there was a seriousness behind it.
“It was the best day of my life, honestly.”
“Really?” he said.
“Yeah. Why don’t you believe me?”
“I don’t want to make someone do things she doesn’t want to,” he said gently, “So if you want to stop, you can take the thousand pounds and have it.”
That made me giggle. “If I wanted to stop, I’d give it back to you.”
He laughed. “If it was me, I’d take it and spend it. But reenber you’re not bound to anything.”
He asked me to kiss him and I was reluctant to, because he’d licked me out too – it was great but vanilla stuff doesn’t satisfy me as much as spanking – so, anyway, I didn’t want to taste my own juices because it disgusted me for some reason. But I did kiss him, just not with tongues. “We should kiss more often,” he said.
I watched him drive away, and of course on the bus I listened to Roxanne – the Moulin Rouge version.