For a moment, i’m lost in remembering last night, the stories i had to read, and my longing to feel connected to Master.  And then the memory fades, i’m back in the present, kneeling in front of him.  The crop and a paddle, that’s what he wants.  And i can feel it now, the longing for him to punish me and help me put this behind me.  To forgive myself, and to feel our connection again.

i nod slightly, “Master, please?”

He nods, and i stand, with as much grace as i can muster, and walk slowly to the back of the room.  Not slowly because i’m reluctant, but slowly so my movements are pleasing.

There are many paddles and more than one crop hanging in the rack.  He didn’t specify which he wanted, so i have to choose.   Often, this is a torturous task.  This time, i just let my gaze rest on each one briefly and i notice that one crop seems to be the right one, and then one paddle seems to stand out.  i don’t think they are the worst or the least of the ones there, but they are the ones that feel right.

The crop isn’t a toy, it’s not one from the novelty store, it’s a working crop, meant to be used on horses.

i know it will hurt, and i know that Master won’t harm me, so i’m not afraid.

The paddle is homemade, not wide but fairly heavy.  It has carving on one side, but is plain on the other, so he’ll have a choice of marking me with the pattern or not, as he chooses.

i carry the crop in one hand, my hands slightly in front of me, letting it rest in my palm, the paddle in the other. Moving slowly, trying to show my desire to please him.  i kneel, offering the crop and the paddle.

“Good choices,” he says, “I am pleased.  Now I will ask you, what rule did you break?  Why are you in trouble?”

“For willful disobedience, Master,” i say.  “For disobeying the limit we had agreed to on how much time i would spend on Facebook, the limit that i had asked you to enforce.”

“How did this rule start?” he says,

“i asked you to help me, Master,” i am barely holding back tears.  “i said i was wasting too much time on Facebook and social media and asked you to help me set limits so i could be more focused and do things that i was neglecting.  This was a rule i asked for, Master.”

“What values or standards did you violate by breaking the rule?”  His voice is calm, kind even, and i feel a deep regret.

“i was disobedient and didn’t show respect for myself or for you and i let us both down.  i violated our most basic agreement, that when i ask for help, i agree to accept it.”

He nods.  “Did you confess or were you caught?:

“i was caught, Master, and,” i feel my face burning with shame, “and i tried to hide it from you.  i lied by my actions.”

“Have you broken this rule before?”

“Yes, Master, i have, and was punished for it once before.”

“Your answers are acceptable,” he says, “We’ll go through the rest of them later, after the punishment.  I’m going to give you five with the crop and five with the paddle for your disobedience.  Do you agree to submit to this?”

“Yes, please, Master,” i say, and i mean it.

“And i will give you five more of each for lying.  Do you agree to submit?”

“Yes, Master, please,” i say, but a bit breathless because i had not expected this.

“Present the crop and paddle to me.  You’ve chosen well.”

i’m ridiculously pleased that he’s pleased with my choices, and that the questions are over, and relieved that i remember the next steps in this ritual.  Standing, i approach him slowly, eyes downcast.  i grasp the crop and bring it to my mouth, lightly kissing the tip of it, and then hand it to him.

He takes it.

i do the same with the paddle, only this time i bring my mouth to each side of it, signaling my complete willingness to accept his will.  He nods and accepts it from me.

Then he holds out his hand, his right hand, the one he will use to punish me.  i bend to his hand, caressing the palm with my lips in a tender kiss.

He stands, leads the way to the punishment table.

There are hooks embedded in the floor, he has me attach my ankle cuffs to the third hook out on each side,so my legs are spread a little more than shoulder width, held securely in place.  i feel wobbly, but just for a minute.

He bends me over the table, which is padded, and then adjusts the table so my torso is lower than my ass.  He attaches my wrist cuffs to a rope on the other side of the table.  i can move a bit, but i can’t bring my legs together or use my hands to protect my ass.

“You know what to do,” he says.  “Count the strokes and thank me for each one.  Let’s begin.”