Disrespect

“…sheer disrespect.”

i barely hear the words, it’s the tone that makes me look up from my computer, and then the words register, and i think, “oh, shit.  i’m in trouble now.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

“i’m sorry, Sir -”

“Are you working?”

“No, Sir.  Not really.  Just, um, just reading an article.”  i am dismayed.  And disappointed in myself.  My goal this month is to be more attentive, to stop what i’m doing when he’s talking to me and give him my full attention.  This is the complete opposite of that.

“Corner time,” he says, “Clothes off first, please.”

i start to protest, “Sir -” and quickly change that to “Yes, Sir,” as i pull my shirt off, bra, and slide my pants down with the panties for efficiency.  At the least, i won’t be slow to obey.

Naked, face pressed to the corner, i can feel him behind me.  i wish he would touch me, i can’t tell what he’s doing.

“Hands behind your neck, open your legs,” he says. i remind myself this is for my benefit.  With my hands behind my neck, my breathing gets deeper, i feel calmer.  My open legs increase my awareness of my vulnerability, and the heat between my thighs reminds me that i like this.  i have, literally, asked for this.

“Think,” he says, “About what it means to be aware and to be responsive.  Did you think I was talking to myself?”

Actually, i did – he does talk to himself when he works, muttering things about data and timelines and queries.  And i may have learned to tune it out.  But i’m pretty sure this is not the time to mention that.

“Think,” he says, “About what you offer me, what it means to be open and receptive.  Not just your cunt and ass, available to be fucked.  Not just your mouth around my cock.  Think about what it means to keep your mind open to me too.”

“Think,” he says, “About the real point of this.  It’s not that I think what I have to say is that important.  The point is that you need to be attentive, to serve me.  And you need this structure,  and the discipline that follows when you don’t live up to the expectations.”

He leaves me there, i can feel him move away, hear him sit back down at his computer.  i wonder how long i’ll be in the corner.  i have a fleeting wish that i had finished the article before i got in trouble, but push that thought away to focus on the things he said.

It’s not the first time i’ve heard the list.  Aware, responsive, open, receptive, to attend and serve.  He’s right, those are the things i want to be.  i feel a rush of gratitude that he’s willing to correct me, to follow through when i fail to live up to the goals we’ve agreed on.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he says, “and lean into the corner a bit more.”

It’s a relief to bring my hands down and clasp them behind me.  i  take a step away from the wall and lean forward, which pushes my ass out as if i am offering it.  Which actually, i am, i suppose.  It’s an awkward position, and i adjust my stance, widening it, and move my shoulders to get more comfortable.

He comes up behind me again to inspect the position, running his hands over my hips and ass, down between my thighs.  i shudder with pleasure, pussy clenching.

He laughs.  “Keep thinking,” he says, and moves away again.

i think about belonging to him, offering him my power, asking him to be in charge.  i think about the way he uses  clamps on my nipples to focus my attention, plugs my ass to bring me down a notch, uses my mouth to satisfy his cock.  i think about the times he fucks me tenderly, and the times he does it ruthlessly, making it clear that i am there for his pleasure, serving his whims and desires.

i think about his belt, his paddle, the cane and the crop, think about the different kinds of pain they bring, and the pleasure of a good, hard spanking.  i kind of wish he would let me out of this corner and get on with it.

At least i wish that until i hear him moving around behind me again, and then i’m not sure what i want.  Mostly i think i want to go back in time and have listened to him, but it’s way too late for that.

His hand in my hair makes me gasp, he pulls me out of the corner, “Offer your ass,” he says, releasing me, and i head for the couch, upending myself over the arm of it, head down, ass up.   i hear him pull his belt out of the loops – that sound that can not be mistaken for anything else.

“No need to count,” he says, “And you can wait til I’m finished to thank me.”  The first blow lands, burning a swath across my ass and i bite my lip.  There is a pause – he lets the pain of the first one fade before striking again, above the first.  The third one lands below it.

Five parallel lines across my ass, from the middle of my butt cheeks to my sit spot.  The rhythm designed for maximum discomfort, enough time for the pain to blossom but not fade.  Then he begins to criss cross them, so each blow that lands intersects with others.  The burning sensation where they intersect is intense, and i begin to cry out.  i know this won’t cause him to reduce the intensity or shorten the time.

There are hot welts on my ass and tears running down my face before he is done.

At last, he stops, and “Stay where you are,” he says.  “I’ll help you up in a minute.”

He moves away, back again.  “Spread your ass cheeks for me,” he says.

i don’t want to, i know what’s coming, but i do, i bring my arms behind me and open my ass for him.  The lube is cold and sticky, the butt plug still hurts.  “Breathe,” he says, “Do I have to beat your ass some more?  Who do you belong to?”

“You, Sir,” i say, “i belong to you,” and he pushes the plug the rest of the way in.  It is larger than usual, and i struggle to relax my asshole around it.  i know that he wants me to feel myself being stretched, that he intends for it to hurt.

“Now you can get up,” he says, helping me to my feet, arms around me holding me close.  “Here,” he sits down on the couch, helping me kneel between his legs.  “Comfortable?  Do you think you’re ready to listen to me now?”

i laugh, “Yes, Sir, i absolutely am.”

 

 

 

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