Blog : The Story of Ophelia 1

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8/11/2023 2:18 am

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8/27/2023 5:46 pm

The Story of Ophelia 1

Ophelia and I stood together, with her in my arms, crying big tears into my shoulder. I made comforting noises at her, with no words, just the sounds you make to a crying baby. Occasionally she wriggled in my arms, trying to get herself even closer into me.

An armful of Ophelia is never a bad thing, though I knew this had nothing to do with sex.

Ophelia worked in the biology lab at a local university, while getting close to finishing and handing in her doctoral thesis. She was researching ways of increasing plant size by accelerating growth during the plant's first couple of weeks after sprouting. I didn't really understand the science of it, though it had something to do with neoteny.

We were good friends. We'd once had a spectacular night together, and I'd loved her slender body, her small, perfect breasts, her face, usually so composed, crying out with heat and joy. But she was only ever single when I was with someone, or she had a boyfriend when I happened to be single. So although I had a sense that we'd be good together, and I suspected that she felt the same, we'd never found a time when we were both available.

Also, because she was friends with a lot of my lovers, she knew I was a Dom. She was a little wary of that. She understood the politics of it reasonably well, but she seemed to think I'd be unable to stop myself from spanking her or tying her up, regardless of what she said. At first I was offended by that, but I decided it was a kind of vanity on her part, and I found that more forgivable.

After a long time she stopped crying. I saw her face, red and streaked with tears, her nose running, and passed her a handful of tissues. She honked, then wiped herself more or less dry and looked at me. "Thank you. Oh goddd, Zas, I've fucked up."

That was the first thing she'd said since she walked in my front door. I kissed her forehead. "What's the matter, Ophelia? What's wrong?"

"Sprinklers! I was using a Bunsen burner. I went to open the window, cause of the smell of gas, but the wind blew papers onto the burner. Started a fire. I put it out, just with tapwater, but the smoke got up to the ceiling and set the sprinklers off."

"Ah," I said. "Catastrophe."

"It's fucked up four weeks' work for me. But it's much worse than that. I've ruined everybody else's experiments. So much for science: I'm a one-woman Dark Ages."

I said, "Bugger. Poor love. But you'll just have to own up. I'm sure they're adults. They know disasters can happen. They'll be pissy for a bit, then they'll<b> forgive </font></b>you. By Christmas it'll be funny."

She looked at me. Tears were forming again. "You know what would make me feel better?"

I said, "Ice cream and creme de menthe?" That had been what we had on that wonderful night at her apartment. Ophelia tended to buy alcohol by colour, rather than any other criteria. At the time she'd been going through a green phase.

"No. I want you to punish me. Hard, so I really cry. You do that, don't you?"

"Well, I do. But only to submissive girls, and that's so they'll enjoy it. I don't want to hurt you. You can stay the night, and I could maybe give you a spanking, with a lecture."

"Hah! I bet you're good at telling your girls off. But that's not what I want. I already know I'm stupid. And careless. And just a complete fucking idiot!" She was back sobbing, and I held her tight and there were no more words for a while.

Eventually she calmed down again, and looked up at me. I reached for the tissues again, but she shook her head emphatically. I said, "Ophelia, you're nobody's idiot. And I bet you've done favours for everyone you work with. They know you're a good person and it's just bad luck."

She pressed her lips together hard, with the corners turned down like a rebelious two-year-old about to wail. "I don't need sympathy. I didn't come here for that."

"Well, what can I do?"

"You know more about what to do than me. But I want you to cane me. Hard. Or whip me, whatever you judge is best. I want - I don't want to be able to sit for days, or comfortably for a week. Then fuck me like you hate me."

I suppose she knew how tempting that was. But I said, "No, love. I can't do that."

"Oh for fuck's sake! You want to, don't you?"

"That's not the point."

"That's just cowardice. You want to, and I want you to. Fucking punish me, Zas. I want you to mark me. I want it to hurt. A lot."

I breathed out, shakey. Ophelia was upset, but she was very intelligent, and in some ways coldly sensible. I liked her but I also had enormous respect for her: she wasn't at all a silly person. Anyway, she was right about me: my cock knew what I wanted. So it was a mix of respect and lust that made my decision. "All right, Ophelia. You need to know that if you say Yellow I'll ease off for a while. If you say Red I stop."

"Alexa told me all about safewords." Alexa wasn't quite a girlfriend, but she did drop by by bedroom for depraved sexual purposes, at unpredictable times. "I'm not going to use one. I need this to hurt. I deserve it."

"Maybe. But those are the safewords, regardless."

She shook her head, but didn't argue. "All right. Beat me. Whip me. Make me cry. I don't care if you make me bleed. No, I hope you will. I want to know I've been punished. I want to feel it."

I decided I could be a lot less brutal than she said she wanted, and punish her with a lot of talk about how savage I was being. She'd never been punished before, and she wouldn't know if I were going easy on her.

I put my hand to her face and pushed my thumb into her mouth. "All right, Ophelia, you'll get everything you asked for. Take your jeans and t-shirt off and go and stand in the corner."

[To be continued, obviously.]


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