Anise the Snowboarder

Miss Baxter’s Girls: Anise the Snowboarder By Davina Lee I am kneeling on the seat of an antique Victorian arm chair that’s probably worth more than I have in my bank account at the moment. That’s okay though, Miss Baxter’s covered it with a bed sheet in case I start to leak. I grip the back of the chair—because I’m facing the wrong way—and spread my thighs. My jeans are a puddle on the floor. “Are you ready, Anise?” “Yes, Miss Baxter.” “What words are you going to remember if things get too intense?” “Red and yellow, Miss Baxter.” “Good girl. Ten was the number we agreed upon, correct?” “Yes, Miss Baxter.” Crack! The sound of the leather riding crop striking my bare buttocks fills my ears. I shudder and relish the warmth spreading over my skin. As usual, she is going easy on me at the start. “One, Miss Baxter.” I knew that by the time we got to ten, I would be fighting back the tears, and squeezing the back of the chair in an effort to quell my shuddering. But I also knew that when we were done, Miss Baxter would take me in her arms and hold me until the shaking stopped and I was whole again. And at the end of it all, I would thank her. This was my idea after all, our weekly therapy appointment, and I was determined to have it continue. Crack! “Two, Miss Baxter.”