Three weeks ago, I had lunch with a kinky friend of mine. Let's call her Josephine. It was a most agreeable affair. We hadn't seen each other in a long time and there was much to talk about over Italian food and wine.
Josephine had recently enrolled in an economics course and needed someone to impose discipline on her: "I know myself. I will probably slack off halfway in the semester. If I'm afraid of a beating, it will be easier to get up and go to class every day." She said I'm the strictest top she has ever played with and wanted me for the job: "Because you won't be too soft on me. You will do whatever you think is necessary." That was a very lovely compliment. How could I say no to such flattery? Needless to say, I agreed to act as her personal motivational coach.
I wondered, would she tell me truthfully about every negligence on her part? Yes, she nodded: "I will be honest, and I feel that just the threat of you being there will be enough, actually. I know how hard you hit with that cane. I'm not too keen on finding out again..." Good, I said, let's hope you are right. Because if you miss as much as one class, you won't be sitting comfortably for quite a while.
So far, Josephine's efforts have been impeccable. She attends every course, is fully focused and does her homework diligently. However, a different matter has now come to light that will require a rather serious heart-to-heart chat. The story gets a little bizarre here. I wish it were another April Fools' Day joke. But it isn't.
I discovered a neck collar in Josephine's flat. Not the "slave" variety, but the kind used by orthopaedists. Out of general curiosity, I wondered what it is. Some new medical fetish? "No, I had to wear that after my accident last year" she mumbled. "No big deal. Didn't I tell you?" You know bloody well that you didn't tell me, I said, and questioned her further. As it turns out, this is what had happened:
She was riding her bike to the grocery store one day. Without a helmet, as usual, and with her bag hanging from the handlebar. And wouldn't you know it, Josephine discovered that a handbag caught in the front wheel will bring the bicycle to a sudden stop. She was going very fast at the time, too. Apparently, the force of the accident was such that the bike flipped over several times. As did Josephine, before a hard landing on the asphalt.
She got up, dazed and bleeding, but didn't feel that it was necessary to visit a doctor. There is nothing they can do at the hospital that she can't do herself! You see, the girl has a stubborn streak, a trait all too common in kinky young ladies. So she simply walked home, carrying the completely wrecked bike, and put some disinfectant on her abrasions. Her neck felt very sore, and she went to bed early.
(Anonymous spankable cyclist - not the real Josephine!)
When Josephine woke up the next morning, the "soreness" (and a strange itch) had spread all the way down to her hands. She decided that it might be a good idea to seek medical advice after all. Looking at the X-ray, the doctor asked: "What is it you want to do next year, study economics? Yes, that is what you said. Well, do you think you can do it - in a wheelchair?"
Noting her expression of sudden shock and despair, the man went on: she had shifted one of her upper vertebrae. It would be alright, they could fix it, no permanent damage. However, in the doctor's opinion, Josephine had come "this close" (imagine the gesture with one millimeter of space between the thumb and index finger) to being paralyzed for life. Not from the waist down, mind you, but from the neck down. She had been extremely lucky. They put her neck back in position, and that was it.
The doctor was quite angry and scolded Josephine in no uncertain terms. She had been very careless and stupid, riding her bike so fast, without a helmet. Refusing to seek help right after the accident. He made her promise that she would never - ever! - do something like this again. Because the next time, she would probably kill herself.
Actually, according to Josephine's description, the doctor must have been outright furious. He was a good-looking man in middle age, and despite the seriousness of the situation, she couldn't keep her mind from wandering off: "I almost expected him to put me over his desk and spank me at any moment! He was so mad..." She gave me a sheepish look: "It was a silly thought to have at the time, but it would have been a perfect kinky scenario."
While I sat there listening to the whole story, I grew more incredulous with every revelation: "Why did you never even tell me about the whole thing?" Josephine hesitated. "Well... You are so over-protective, anyway. And I know that you think I'm too reckless sometimes. I was worried that you would throw a fit over it..."
Throw a fit. Imagine that. Just because she almost kills herself. I didn't know what infuriated me more. The accident itself, because it wasn't her first close call. The girl is just irresponsible! Or the fact that she had kept it from me for half a year. True, we hadn't seen each other, but we had been on the phone many times.
On the outside, I was calmness personified: "I see. Well, so that's what the collar was for. Right!" The conversation moved on to other things. I left later that evening. Inside, I was already plotting the necessary educational steps. I like to take my time with decisions like these, think about what will yield the best result. In this case, I felt that a buildup, allowing her to dwell on the upcoming punishment, would be better than thrashing her straight away.
That was a week ago. Yesterday, I called Josephine to arrange for our regular Sunday appointment, when she reports to me about the progress of her studies. At the end, I said: "One more thing. When I arrive tomorrow afternoon, I want you to have a cane in the bathtub, in the water. Nice and flexible so I can use it right away. We're going to talk about how you are supposed to ride your bike."
There was a pause before Josephine's meek reply: "But I don't have a bike anymore..." I had to grin, but calmly repeated my instructions, a little more threatening this time: "Did you get that, Fräulein?" Yes, okay, she said, and I hung up.
So, later today, I will get to practice my right arm again. It has been too long, anyway. The doctor didn't flog her, but I'm making up for lost opportunities. Rest assured, I'm determined to make it more painful than the accident itself. It's a good thing that Josephine doesn't have a bike anymore. In the coming days, she wouldn't be able to sit on it, anyway.