The door to our room opens, and I'm aware that I'm almost hyperventilating, feeling so anxious and fearful. I wish I could turn and crawl across the room, throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. "Stand up and come over here to me, " you order, and I shiver at the cold tone of your voice. Slowly I rise, my knees shaking and walk carefully to stand before you, my eyes lowered. My hands are clenched into fists to stop the shaking, and I am quite sure that my face is very pale. "Strip," you order. With shaking fingers I undo the buttons on my blouse, sliding the silk off my arms. Spying the chair next to me, I fold the blouse carefully and lay it on the chair, and reach back to unzip my skirt, sliding it down over my hips and folding it as well. I step out of the black pumps and slip them under the chair. My mind recalls all the times I've stripped before you, often as a prelude to the exquisite lovemaking we share. How I wish I had handled things differently downstairs before! I gasp as pain sears across my thigh... when did you pick up that crop?... and in your cold tone you tell me to stop stalling. I remove my bra and panties as quickly as possible, and step again in front of you, nude. " I am going to punish you, " you inform me. I nod silently. There is always this verbal dance before a punishment, and sometimes I hate that the most, having to listen to your cold voice, having to say aloud my wrong doings and your insistence that I request to be punished. "Who am I? " you ask, walking around me slowly. "My Master," I reply softly, eyes still down. "And is it appropriate to call one's Master a "fucking asshole"?" you ask. My eyes fill with tears. You are so much more than just a Master: you are my lover, my partner, my best friend, the last person on earth I should be calling names. The crop strikes again, across my ass. " I believe I asked you a question," you comment. "No, Master, it was a very inappropriate remark to make, " I respond. Again, like downstairs, one of your hands grips my upper arm while the other hand grasps my hair tightly. You lead me into the bathroom, placing me before the sink. " I agree, " you inform me, " a highly inappropriate remark. " You reach for the liquid soap dispenser, and hold it before my face. "Open your mouth... I am feeling the need to wash that filthy mouth of yours" bdsm free pic The door to our room opens, and I'm aware that I'm almost hyperventilating, feeling so anxious and fearful. I wish I could turn and crawl across the room, throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. "Stand up and come over here to me, " you order, and I shiver at the cold tone of your voice. Slowly I rise, my knees shaking and walk carefully to stand before you, my eyes lowered. My hands are clenched into fists to stop the shaking, and I am quite sure that my face is very pale. "Strip," you order. With shaking fingers I undo the buttons on my blouse, sliding the silk off my arms. Spying the chair next to me, I fold the blouse carefully and lay it on the chair, and reach back to unzip my skirt, sliding it down over my hips and folding it as well. I step out of the black pumps and slip them under the chair. My mind recalls all the times I've stripped before you, often as a prelude to the exquisite lovemaking we share. How I wish I had handled things differently downstairs before! I gasp as pain sears across my thigh... when did you pick up that crop?... and in your cold tone you tell me to stop stalling. I remove my bra and panties as quickly as possible, and step again in front of you, nude. " I am going to punish you, " you inform me. I nod silently. There is always this verbal dance before a punishment, and sometimes I hate that the most, having to listen to your cold voice, having to say aloud my wrong doings and your insistence that I request to be punished. "Who am I? " you ask, walking around me slowly. "My Master," I reply softly, eyes still down. "And is it appropriate to call one's Master a "fucking asshole"?" you ask. My eyes fill with tears. You are so much more than just a Master: you are my lover, my partner, my best friend, the last person on earth I should be calling names. The crop strikes again, across my ass. " I believe I asked you a question," you comment. "No, Master, it was a very inappropriate remark to make, " I respond. Again, like downstairs, one of your hands grips my upper arm while the other hand grasps my hair tightly. You lead me into the bathroom, placing me before the sink. " I agree, " you inform me, " a highly inappropriate remark. " You reach for the liquid soap dispenser, and hold it before my face. "Open your mouth... I am feeling the need to wash that filthy mouth of yours"
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