Unconditional Submission

World History

A soft moan hummed from my mouth as I gingerly sat down on the hardwood chair in the library. It was the second day after my discipline, and my bottom bore the bruises of a well-delivered punishment. Every seat I took reminded me how imperative it was that I listen to everything Clark says.

With my final exam approaching in World History—the only class that truly applied some education to my brain—I felt a quiet morning in the classically designed library on the Submissive's Campus would be most beneficial.

In my failed attempts to find a comfortable position on the hard chair at a desk, I ultimately decided that I could spare my aching backside and sit on the soft leather couches nearest to the windows. So, I gathered my books and my notebook and moved away from the desks, around the little coffee table, sinking into the soft leather couch with a mild wince.

The library was fairly empty, so I felt perfectly comfortable slouching into the couch and propping my feet up on the coffee table. I bent my legs and leaned my textbook against my thighs. I opened my notebook and put it on the cushion beside me, my pen in hand, ready to take notes.

Once I was comfortably settled, I began studying everything that I felt I would struggle to recall during the exam; dates mainly.

Numbers were not my friend.

As the hours went by, and morning settled to afternoon, I had discarded my slippers on the floor and curled up with my feet under me while hunching over my textbook and notepad. It wasn't a proper position for a submissive, but it was comfortable. Eventually, I even lounged back, my head propped up on the arm of the couch, bare feet crossed at the ankles, nibbling on my pen as I reviewed my notes.

That's how Clark found me.

I hadn't even heard him approach. My eyes were glued to my notebook for close to an hour, and when I finally lowered the pad to my chest, there he was, leaning into a bookcase, one hand tucked in the pocket of his black trousers, the other holding a white paper cup. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, baring his forearms. Somehow, this look made him look older, wiser, more intimidating...

With a gasp, I jerked upright. His eyes lowered to my legs and I yanked my skirt down, realizing it had ridden up some and exposed enough of my thighs to catch his attention.

I slid from the couch and dropped to my knees, lowering my head respectfully.

The last time I had seen my dominant was just after my caning and the memories were so fresh that it might as well have been an hour prior versus the entire twenty four hours since we last saw each other. Thus, my face blushed a hot red, and my heart pattered frantically in my chest.

As he approached, moving quietly to place his cup on the table and remove an extra something from his pocket to also place on the table, I nibbled on my lip nervously, hoping he wasn't displeased with me.

I listened as he sat down on the couch behind me, the leather creaking beneath his weight. His hand found my hair for a moment, very briefly, before he spoke.

"Come, Katherine."

I turned, raising on my knees to stand. His hand on my arm stopped me from rising, however.

"I want you to bend over my lap."

He could have shot me with a pistol and I wouldn't have been more surprised than I was at that moment.

He was going to...spank me?

On my already very sore bottom, that would be agonizing. Didn't he know that? Why did he want to hurt me so badly? Hadn't I been good for the most part?

He reached for me, tugging me gently across his knee, and stunned, I complied. Today's position was more vulnerable than the previous day. I felt myself slipping. I tried to will it away, but the tears came fast and my pitiful fear took over. It took all willpower not to beg him for mercy.