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I sit on the front step, anxious for Him to come home. Hidden just inside the house is my collar and leash. I am wearing clothes that will peel away easily from my body. After what seems like hours but is in actuality a few minutes, His car pulls into the driveway. I greet Him affectionately, much more so than I ever see the neighborhood wives greet their husbands.
Standing in our driveway, we look much like any other couple. Nobody would guess what is about to take place. He holds my hand and walks in front of me slightly. I slip into the subservient role easily for when I am in my sub role, I am truly home. If I had my way, I would sit at his feet all day while He works, quite content with the occasional smile or pat on the head.
He opens the door and hangs His coat up. I bow my head and start to feel the familiar emotions; excitement, fear, nervousness and incredibly turned on. He slips my shirt over my head and peels my pants down. I am naked underneath as He has ordered me to be. My collar is placed around my neck and I shiver at the feel of the leather. He secures it snugly and attached the leash and snaps His fingers. I sink to my knees and He pulls the leash. I follow on hands and knees to the kitchen. He glances at the table and sees His glass of water with four ice cubes waiting for Him. He strokes my cheek and smiles at me. I feel a blush break out over my whole body. Praise from Him always gives me a strange feeling..I feel like a shy little girl who was singled out when all she wants to do is blend into the background.
“Come” He says as He sits on the couch. He pats His lap and I curl up on my favorite seat. I smell His skin and kiss His neck tenderly.
“Tell me about your day” He says.
I tell Him about the chores I did, the emails I answered, and the shower I had. I stop suddenly and He asks me to continue. He has caught me and He knows exactly what I will say. I confess that I might have let my hand wander while I showered.
He raises an eyebrow at my impertinence. He nods for me to continue. I rubbed my arms feeling cold suddenly. Over the years He has trained me to be open with Him and to never edit myself. As a result I can’t lie to Him, although sometimes I wish there was a way around telling Him intimate details I would prefer to keep secret.
I went on and explained how I had stroked myself, slowly at first before bringing myself to a delicious orgasm.
His face remained expressionless. He stood up suddenly and I fell to the floor. I wanted to glare up at Him, but I knew it would not help my situation. The problem was not that I had touched. It was that I had touched without asking. I agreed that my orgasms are not my own. They belong to Him and He decides when I am to have them, or not have them, whatever the case may be.
I felt the leash being tugged and I was pulled to my feet. We stood at the edge of the couch and He pushed me back. I fell onto the edge of the couch and looked at Him. He was halfway across the room digging through the drawer in the kitchen. He returned to me, sprawled on the couch and He forced my naked legs apart. He ordered me to close my eyes and I squeezed them shut, even placing my hands over them because I knew I would peek. I dislike having my eyes covered. I do better when I know what to expect and He knows this. My breathing quickens as my mind races, trying to figure out what He will do. As I weigh the possibilities I feel a sharp burning flash of pain between my legs and I howl in agony. I know He has the bamboo spatula and it hurts like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Being hit on my most sensitive area hurts so much more than any spanking ever could. A tear squeezes out of my eye and I can feel it run down the side of my face. He hits me again and my legs start to close before I feel Him prying them open. My slit feels burning hot and swollen. He hisses at me “Why am I doing this, Little One?”
“Because I didn’t ask to touch” I scream at Him, weeping uncontrollably.
“That’s right.” He slaps me again and I writhe on the couch, desperately praying this will end soon. “Will you ever do it again?” He hisses at me.
“No Sir, never again. I promise!” I cry out.
With all His strength He slaps my pussy again with the much despised spatula. My knees lock together and I turn on my side, sobbing and mumbling about how sorry I am. I feel a tugging at my neck and I open my eyes as I climb off the couch. He leads me to the play room and into my cage. He slams the door and locks it and goes to leave the room.
I look at my punished slit but can’t bring myself to touch it. It stings and He has drawn blood. Despite my pain, I feel an exquisite calmness. It’s almost euphoric. I took what He dished out. I feel strong, soft, and utterly His.
He pauses at the door and looks down at the table where my journal sits. He picks it up and brings it to me with my pen. He slides it through the cage into my hands and tells me I can come out when I am done writing to you all.
With shaking hands I begin to write “I sit on the front step….”
~Bella xo