It was a crisp autumn evening in London. It was the type of evening that was punctuated by the leaves falling to the floor, a mixture of vibrant reds, oranges, and yellows: a reflection of the huge tree-lined streets. The city, always alive, seemed to slow down as the golden hues of sunset bathed the skyline. She left the building, taking a left, and walking over Russell Square. The soft hum of the underground trains below the streets was a distant murmur. She stopped, looking over the brutalist architecture. The traffic, the smells, the sounds, and the bustling felt too much after a day in the library.  Near Russell Square tube station, Brunswick loomed in the distance. She sat on a weathered bench, wrapped in a woolen scarf, her fingers absently tracing the edges of her mobile phone.

She had lived in London for four years now, and while the city never lost its charm, she couldn't help but feel like something was missing. It was the small things that made life rich: staying up late, going for walks, late night coffees.  But lately, Danielle felt disconnected, as if life was just passing her by. She opted for the tube home, getting off, and walking. She came out, walked out of the station, and continued to walk past the park home. It was here that she usually saw him. She usually saw him on the street that runs parallel to her own. Some days, she went out of her way to avoid seeing him, because of the warmth that came to her cheeks as her eyes met the pavement. It was thinking about these things that made her absent-minded, taking the first right and not the second right: and that was when she saw him. 

He had always been there — a fleeting figure in her peripheral vision.  But today, as he walked past her on the cobblestone path by the river, something about him caught her attention in a way it never had before. The way his dark hair tousled with the wind, the easy confidence in his stride, and the softness in his eyes — it was all too familiar, yet strangely unfamiliar. They crossed over where he worked, and accidentally bumped into each other on the street a few times. While she didn’t smoke cigarettes, sometimes, he would offer her a cigarette. She rarely smoked tobacco, but took it nonetheless. 

He stopped a few paces ahead of her, as if pulled by some invisible force. Their eyes met, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away.

"Danielle," he said, his voice warm, almost like a question.

"James," she replied, her heart skipping a beat. She had seen him in passing in the street, but for some reason, she didn’t anticipate seeing him today. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"I usually take this walk after work," he said, gesturing toward the path along the river. "I like walking through the park, The view here calms my mind, and it’s a shortcut to where I live,”

Danielle  nodded, suddenly feeling self-conscious, as if she'd been caught in a moment that was too intimate for its own good. She looked down at her hands, then back at him. "I live on the street next to this street. I always forget to take the second right, and not the first right I took the first right.”

James smiled, that slow, easy smile that always made her feel like the most important person in the room. "I knew you lived close by, but I was uncertain how close by.”Her mouth opened, and closed. She looked at him and looked down again. James tried not to smile. Her thoughts, scattered like loose paper in the wind, followed no clear path- except for him. The hum of his laughter, how he laughed so freely, and the slight sexual tension that emerged between them. He could tell she was holding back, meek, reserved, demure in her comments towards him. She paused, but the pause wasn’t uncomfortable. In fact, it felt like an unspoken invitation. He took a step closer.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked.

Danielle hesitated, then nodded and smiled. It was one of those moments when you didn’t question the feeling — when something deep inside nudged you forward. She moved her bag from the seat, and James sat beside her.  

For a while, neither of them spoke. They simply watched the river glide past, the lights of the cars reflecting on the windows, like a thousand stars at rush hour. 

"I like how the city looks at night," Danielle said finally. She didn’t know what to say, and she had to say something. "It’s different from the daytime."

"It’s quieter," James agreed. "More... peaceful, in a way."

They shared a knowing smile 

"You know," James began, his voice softer now, "I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten to know you. I mean, I’ve always liked seeing you but we’ve never really talked."

"I guess we’ve been in the same circles," she said, her voice quieter, "but never really crossed paths in any meaningful way."

There was a brief silence before James spoke again, his voice thoughtful. "Maybe we should change that."

She met his gaze, and something shifted between them. 

"I’d like that," she said.“You know, I live closeby.”

James looked at her, his expression softening. "I’ve always thought you had this... mystery about you. I could never figure you out, but I liked it. Once, I touched your arm, and you said you didn’t like to be touched. I wondered if that meant that you didn’t want me to touch you.”

Clara laughed, a sound that surprised her. It was a laugh that felt more freeing than she expected. Sighing, she tried hard to make eye contact, and delicately expressed: “Sometimes, I don’t like to be touched if I don’t know I am going to be touched.”While the words left her mouth, she realised the impact of what she said. Whether or not she wanted to be touched or not touched, it gave the impression she didn’t. Of course, the quiet house, sitting in the bedroom, the eye contact, all of these combined created an impression of what could happen. 

"And what about you?" she asked, his voice suddenly teasing. 

He raised an eyebrow, feeling a playful spark between them. "Maybe you’ll find out."They finally walked to her house. She looked up, noticing no lights were on.  Everybody had already left for the holidays. 

“James, listen, would you like to come in for a coffee?”  He nodded. She fumbled in her pocket for her keys, opening the door. The bell above the door chimed and the door creaked open, the draft of cold air sweeping in with him, that familiar shadow in the doorway. He was taller than most men—broad-shouldered. . He closed the door softly, brushing the rain off his coat with a quiet sigh, his eyes already searching, already finding her in the dark. 

He smiled, leaning a little closer, their shoulders brushing lightly. The warmth between them grew, not from the touch, but from the connection that suddenly felt so real.  They walked upstairs, and she offered him a coffee, bringing him to her bedroom. She hated entertaining guests in the kitchen if she didn’t have to. “Are your flatmates out?” he enquired. He walked through the door and saw her south-facing window, and the garden underneath. Smiling to herself, she recognised the impact of his comment. He looked around her room, noting the images on her wall. “Yes, one’s gone back to Yorkshire for the holidays, and the other one is with his family in Croydon. It’s just me here over the next week or so over the holidays.” It was an unusually mild winter, and there were still leaves on the ground. She left the room, hearing the kettle boil in the kitchen below. He walked up to her bookcase, examining the various books, looking at the library marks on their spine. She knocked the door a few moments later, carrying a tray, a door he opened as she put the tray down on a table.

They sat across from each other at the small, round table by the window that was in her room. The soft hum of the radio around them fading into the background as their eyes met. She paused, her fingers curling around the porcelain mug, feeling the warmth seep into her skin, but it was the heat in his gaze that set her pulse quickening. His eyes, dark and steady, held hers with a tenderness that seemed to pull at something deep inside her, something she couldn’t name but felt with every soft beat of her heart. In the silence, they said nothing, but everything was there, unspoken — the promise of something more, the possibility of something that could change the course of everything. She became painfully aware that not only were both of them in her bedroom, but how close she was to the bed itself. For a few minutes, they sat there. For months, they had spent time together. She couldn’t remember the initial time she met him, but for the past 7 months, he had been there. Closing her eyes, intermittently, she had touched herself and thought of him. Each time she did this, it made it more uncomfortable to see him. Embarrassed, she recalled these ideas in his presence, and wilted. It was the first time they were alone together without others around them. 

The room was dimly lit, with only a faint glow emanating from the table lamp in the corner and some fairy lights around her bed. The air was thick with tension as Sarah sat across from James, her hands fidgeting nervously in her lap.

"James, can I talk to you about something?" Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

James looked up from her drink, a concerned expression etched on her face. "Of course, what's going on with you? You know, you can tell me anything.”

Danielle took a deep breath before speaking, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I didn’t anticipate that you would say yes when I invited you into my house.”

“OK.”

She sighed. “You know, when a man and a woman are together, Satan is the third person present.”He looked at her, and laughed, a deep, heavy laugh. Both of them had similar backgrounds. “So I have been told.” He looked at her, and finished his drink. “You said, earlier, I could find out.”

“What?” he asked

I said, “Do you like being touched?”

“Why?” he asked. He thought back to an encounter they had. 

“Because I’m curious to understand why you’ve agreed to come to my house, and how you’ve ended up in my bedroom.”

“Well…” he trailed off. “Are you sexually attracted to me?” she asked.

“What? Who asks this?”“I do. There’s only so much I can understand without you telling me.” She paused. Across her room were piles and piles of books. Each pile meant something: perhaps a pile of books from one library, another for a particular course, a third pile for an essay. The books she used for study were more numerous than her other books, her other books she usually took off herself if she realised someone was coming around. Danielle felt a panic and anxiety set across her body, looking over to the shelf. She had left all of her erotica books on her shelf, recently read.

He had thought of the same books as he looked at her. Books on erotica, incest, spanking, BDSM: things that shocked him, usually, but some things he had tried out. She had also left her spanking paddle on her bookshelf.They looked at each other for a moment before she opened her mouth again.

“This is a bit forward, but I've been wanting to tell you something for a while now, but I've been too afraid. I have this... kink, I guess you could call it. It's not something I'm proud of, but I feel like I can trust you."

James' expression remained neutral, encouraging Danielle to continue. "What is it?" she asked, her voice gentle.

Danielle's eyes dropped to the floor, her voice barely audible. "I have a BDSM kink. I know it sounds disgusting, and I'm ashamed of it, but I just can't help how I feel."

The room fell silent, the only sound was the quiet hum of the lamp. James’s face remained impassive, but her eyes betrayed a flicker of surprise. She set her drink down, her hands folding together in her lap.

"Danielle, I... I don't know what to say," James said finally, her voice measured. "I care about you, and I want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what. But I have to admit, this is a lot to take in. I didn’t think anything would happen between us this evening. I thought, “Yes, maybe, perhaps, in the future.””

Sarah nodded, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "I know it's not something that's easy to understand. I've struggled with it for years, feeling like I'm somehow weird or there’s something wrong. But I just can't help how I feel."

James reached out, her hand covering hers. "You're not weird. You're just... different. And that's okay. We'll figure this out together, okay?" James had thought back to his previous experiences. Yes, he had had partners who were interested in BDSM, but this wasn’t something he had extensive experience over. 

As Danielle spoke, her voice was calm and reassuring, but James could sense a hint of unease beneath the surface. It was a lot to ask of a friend, to accept something so taboo and forbidden. But as he looked into her eyes, she saw a glimmer of understanding, of acceptance. And in that moment, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders, a sense of relief washing over her. She knew that she still had a long way to go, but with him by her side, she felt like she could face anything.She panicked, thinking about what to share next. The silence was heavy between them. It hung in the air, thick, like smoke. 

"I've always been fascinated by the idea of spanking," she said, her voice low and conspiratorial. "There's something about the idea of being spanked that just really turns me on."

Her friend raised an eyebrow. "Really? I've never been into that sort of thing myself, but I've had a few partners who were really into it. What is it about spanking that you find so appealing?"

She leaned in, a sly grin spreading across her face. "I think it's the combination of pain and pleasure. There's something about the sting of a spank that just really gets me going. Plus, I love the idea of being submissive and letting someone else take control."

James nodded thoughtfully. "I  have experienced this thing before, but I wasn’t really into it. On one occasion, I went to Primrose Hill with my expartner, and I spanked her and fucked her outside.”

The breath had left her chest. Shock wasn’t the term she was expecting to feel, or surprise. She thought back to a late-night film she watched nearly 10 years ago, one that featured a spanking scene, and one that also saw two people having sex outside. Her, against the tree, him, holding her up. These were things she always wanted, but she had never done. Throughout her life, she had longed for them, but struggled to ever do it. In her early 20’s, men could either struggle to fuck her, struggle to keep with her, or struggle to understand her. 

“I can see how that would be appealing. I've had partners who loved being spanked because it allowed them to let go of control and just focus on the sensation. But I've also had partners who were really hesitant to try it because they were worried about it being too painful or uncomfortable. I will be honest with you. It is something I have dabbled in.” 

Danielle nodded. "Yeah, I can understand that. I've had experiences where the spanking was too hard or too soft, and it just didn't feel right. But when it's done just right, it's amazing. There's something about the feeling of being spanked that just really releases all my tension and stress."

James leaned in, his voice taking on a more intimate tone. "I have to admit, I'm a little curious about it now. What's it like, being spanked? Is it something that you would want to try with me?"

Danielle's eyes sparkled with excitement. "Maybe. I think it would depend on the situation and how comfortable I felt with you. But I have to say, the idea of being spanked by you is definitely intriguing."

Danielle wore a mini skirt, a pair of knee-length high white socks, and her shoe had been taken off. Smoking a cigarette, she leaned backwards, the dim light of the lightbulb above illuminating the contours of her nipples through her thin white t-shirt. He hadn’t noticed her breasts before. Danielle took to wearing loose clothing, particularly around the other sex. She felt him looking at her, returning his gaze, as he looked back up her body: he met her gaze, and she kept it. “But why do you want me to spank you?” “Look at your hands.”Quizzically, he looked down. “What about them?”

“It’s the size of your hands. That’s why.” She leaned over the table, grabbed his hand, and hand her held against his hand,”Can you see how much larger your hands are than me?”

“...So?”

“So? You can spank me harder than I can spank myself. It’s different, spanking yourself.”

“But surely, spanking yourself is the same as being spanked?”

“No. I can tell if it’s a hard spank or a soft spank. My brain anticipates it, and it sends a signal to my body and I don’t wince. I hesitate and resist. I want the release of being spanked so hard that my arse gets bright red.”

Sex, predominantly for him, was about penetration. It wasn’t psychological, it was purely physical, physical attraction- but something about her comments stayed with him. 

“I think I could do that for you.”