Bored

“i’m bored,” i say.

“Bored?”  Sir looks up from the blender engine he’s taken apart and is putting back together.  “Seems like there’s plenty to do around here.  Plenty that needs doing anyhow.” And he goes back to work, completely focused on the tiny screwdriver and parts in front of him.

i huff a little bit as i settle back into my chair.  i don’t want to do laundry.  Or dishes, not right now.  i just did dishes a few hours ago.  i’ve even had my fill of Facebook for now.  Can’t he see i need attention?   “Spending the afternoon together” isn’t the same as “being in the same house doing completely different things.”

Even if we were just talking, that would be good.  But no.  He just sits there working on the stupid blender, which we never use anyhow.  Or hardly ever.  It was just a fluke that i tried to make a smoothie this morning and couldn’t.

“Honey??  Do you want something to drink?  I can get you some water or coke or something.”

“No, thanks.”  He doesn’t even look up.

“What do you want for dinner?”  Maybe i can start cooking.

No response.

“Honey, what do you want for dinner?  i could start fixing dinner.”

Nothing.

“i know!!”  i jump up from my chair, startling him so much he drops the piece he’s working on and bits of it roll across the table.  He catches all but one, i can hear it hit the floor.

“O!  i’m sorry!  i didn’t mean to startle you!!  i just, i just thought of something good i could fix for dinner.”

He’s on the floor, looking for the part, which he finds.  He comes out from under the table, careful not to hit his head.

“Come here,” he says.  He sounds calm, i don’t think i’m in trouble, but  i approach the table cautiously.  He waits until i’m standing close to him before he says, “You’re really bored.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Ok,” he says.  “I can suggest some things for you to do.  You can write lines.  You can write, “i will not bother Sir when he’s fixing the blender for me,” 50 times in your best handwriting.  Or you can stand in the corner.  You can take off all your clothes and put your hands behind your neck and stand in the corner until I’m through here.   Or – this would be good – you can pull up your skirt, take down your panties, and bend over the arm of the couch until I’m ready to come spank your ass.  Which of those would you prefer?”

“Sir…” i know it’s a whine.  i can’t help it.  “None of those.”

“‘None of those’ is not a choice.  Don’t want you to be bored.  If you can’t decide?  No problem.  I’ll do it for you.  Take your clothes off.”  i hesitate,  shocked at the speed of this whole thing and how it has spun out of control.  “Now,” he says, “Or I’ll do it for you.”

That unfreezes me, and I pull off my top and my skirt. Quickly.

“That’s better,” he says.  “Now, get some paper and you can sit down right here and start writing lines.  Quickly.”

i know where the paper is from the last time i had to write lines, so in seconds i’m seated at the table, pen in hand.  The seat of the chair is cold against my  naked butt, and i wiggle a little bit, but i’m not going to complain.  Not now.  “I will not bother Sir while he’s fixing the blender?” i ask.

“Yes, that’s good.  50 times.” he says.  “Now, I don’t want writing lines to be boring for you, so lets put the nipple clamps on while you write.”  And he pulls the clamps out of the little drawer he uses in the kitchen.

“Oh, Sir!!  No! Not the ~” and i bite my lip because “oh sir no” is not what i’m supposed to be saying.  He just grins as he fastens them on, tugging on each nipple until it’s hard and extended enough to put the clamp on easily, tightening each one until i suck in my breath, so uncomfortable now.  “Start writing.  Tell me when you get to your 25th line,” he says, “And we’ll take the clips off and put them back on.”

i start to say something, but he puts a finger to my lips.  “Do i need to gag you?” he says.

“No, Sir,” i say quickly.

“Then start writing.  When you’re finished, i’ll decide if it’s corner time or waiting for your spanking next.   Bored.  i don’t want my girl to be bored, that’s for sure.”

He kisses the top of my head and settles himself back in front of the blender.  My  nipples are hurting less, but i know the real pain is about 25 lines away.  Carefully, i start writing, “i will not bother Sir when he’s fixing my blender.  i will not bother Sir…”

 

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