In a heap at his feet, resting my head against his thigh, i am content.  The punishment is complete, and i have managed to bring him to orgasm with my mouth.  He strokes my head, “Good girl.”  i’m almost purring with satisfaction, although i haven’t been allowed to have an orgasm myself.  It’s painful when i’ve disappointed him, and i’m relieved that we’re in harmony again.

But it’s not quite over.  “So what led you to break the rule?”  he asks.  “You just ignored the timer, how come?  You’re the one that asked for a limit on Facebook time, what happened?”

i sigh.  “i don’t even really know,” i say.  “i get all entranced by the articles, and seeing what people are saying, and checking to see if anyone’s liked my posts, or commented, and i just get sucked in.  It’s like i can’t tear myself away.”

He nods, still gently playing with my hair.  “You know you can save the articles to read later, right?”

“Yes, Sir, i know.”

“You really are addicted, aren’t you?  Maybe you need to go cold turkey for a while, no Facebook for a week or so.  What do you think?”

My head is screaming, “Nooooo!” but i try to sound unworried.  “If you think that’s what i need, then yes, of course, Sir, but i think it might make it worse in the long run.”

“Maybe,” he says, sounding thoughtful.  “How many words do you have written for your book?”

My stomach gets tight, i feel a bit sick.  “About 3,000.” i say.

He grasps my hair, wrapping it around his fist, using it to tilt my head back to look at him.  “What was your goal for this week?”  he asks.

“6,000,” i say, and there are tears in my eyes.

“How many words do you need to have to consider it complete?” his voice is low.

i know he already knows the answer, but i say it anyhow.  “About 25,000.”

“And that’s how many you need to submit it to that publisher you were talking about, right?”

“Yes, Sir, but it’s not any good anyhow, there’s no point in writing it, they won’t publish it, no one’s going to want to read it anyhow.  i can’t do it.”  My voice is shaky, holding back tears.

“Really?”  More than a touch of sarcasm, “Really?  So now you’re psychic. I had no idea.  Would you go buy us a lottery ticket, please?  Since you can predict the future and all.”

That makes me smile, and i say, “No, Sir, i wish i could, and i know you’re right, i just – i get overwhelmed with thinking about how much i need to do and how it’s not going to be any good and i just – i’ll do all kinds of things to avoid working on it.  Really, i don’t think i can do it.  i’m sorry.  i should never have started this.”  Tears spill over then, i’m such a failure, why did i even mention this in the first place, this whole writing a book idea, stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Wait – wait – wait,” he says.  “What are you talking about – you can’t do it – can’t do what?”

“Write a book,” i say.  “i can’t write a book.”

“Of course you can – I don’t know why you’re saying that – you write all the time.  Of course you can write a book.”

i sniffle a bit.  “Not a book that’s good enough to publish.” i say.  “Not a real book.  You know how i am.  i start stuff and then i realize i can’t do it, and i don’t finish.  i shouldn’t even start.”

He stares at me.  “You shouldn’t even start?  I should start – start spanking your ass again.   I guess I didn’t do a very good job with that either. ”

i sniff, and giggle, “Yes, you did, you did a fine job.  My butt’s still sore.  That’s not the problem.  i just don’t need to write a book.  That’s silly.  i think i should still have limits on Facebook, cause there’s lots of other stuff i need to do, but let’s just forget about the whole book thing.”  i look up at him hopefully.

“Nope.  Not happening,” he says.  “I don’t care if your book ever gets published or not.  Hell, I don’t care if it’s the worst book ever written.  But you are going to finish it.”  I guess he sees the resistance in my face, cause he adds, “Ok, I can’t make you  finish it, but I can – how do we say it – I can “incentivize progress.”    We can set a daily goal for you, with rewards for achieving it.  And punishment for not.”

i look down, feeling a little pouty but not wanting it to show.  “Like what kind of rewards?” i ask.

He shrugs.  “I haven’t thought this out yet, but there are lots of possibilities.  Orgasms, for one.  I’m pretty sure you like those, right?  We could make orgasms dependent on reaching your writing goal.  And I’ve thought of some ways aside from spanking to address any more infractions of the Facebook time rule.”

“You have?”

He grins.  “Yeah.  So I’m thinking we use nipple clamps.”  i gasp, nipple clamps are not my favorite thing anyhow, and he knows it.  “I’m thinking that if you overstay your time on Facebook, that you wear nipple clamps for your next allotted time.  Not the whole time, of course, that would be too much.  You’d have to wear them for a little while, then take them off, then put them back on.  Doesn’t that sound like it would make you think twice about overstepping the limits?”

“Omg, that would be horrible, yes, sir,” and my hands instinctively cover my  nipples.  He laughs and motions for me to move my hands, replacing them with his, tugging at my nipples, twisting them til i whimper.  i shiver, with pleasure and pain, i really need an orgasm.

“So we’re not really through here, are we?” he says.  “We need to figure out how we can help you do this thing you think you can’t do.”

“Yes, Sir, i guess so,” i say.