“How was your day?” he asked. His voice was so casual that you would not have recognized it as a demand, unless you had already agreed to be accountable to him.
Her tone was casual in return. “About a 4,” she said, using the scale they had agreed on. A “10” meant she had completed all her tasks, a “0” meant none of them, and – well, you can see where that put her tonight. She might have been ok with a seven or eight. Nine would have been fine. But with a four? There would be consequences.
They had finished dinner and were relaxing with a cup of tea. This was the time of accountability. “Time for the chickens to come home to roost.” They had laughed when she said that, that day they planned it. That day she had all the confidence of a good girl with great plans.
At the moment, all she could think about was roads that are paved with good intentions and beds that you shouldn’t have made.
He nodded. “A four. Go ahead and strip, please.”
Tears in her eyes, she stood. “Yes, Sir.” She didn’t protest, she knew that would be pointless. She stood in front of him and undressed in the manner he expected. This was not a strip tease to seduce, but the repentant stripping away of her defenses.
She folded each item of clothing carefully, placing it in a neat pile on the chair beside her. When she had finished, she stood as expected, hands behind her head.
She stood for several minutes before he acknowledged her. That humiliation was always difficult. Sometimes, she thought it was the worst part. Standing naked, waiting. Not knowing how long he’d make her wait or what would happen next.
Tonight, he didn’t make her wait too long. She knew this was a mixed blessing, because whatever happened next was not going to be fun. They loved playing and a good girl spanking was a delight. Punishment was not.
When he looked at her, his face solemn, tears welled up in her eyes. “You let yourself down,” he said. Just that, and tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“I don’t have to ask you what happened.” he went on, his voice gentle. “I already know. You got sidetracked. Lost your focus. Got caught up in some other thing.” He shrugged. “It’s not that there’s anything wrong with that. But it doesn’t take you where you want to go. Does it?’
“No, Sir,” she said. Swamped with shame, she trembled, and the first sob escaped her.
He shook his head. “Go on to the corner,” he said. “Hands behind your back. Think about how you would account for your time today. If you were filling out a time sheet, what would be on it?”
Standing in the corner, she fought the tears, tried to clear her mind. “Facebook,” she thought, “that’s what I did. And reading that book, way too much time reading the book. Omg, and blogs, I ran around the internet and started getting caught up on people I haven’t read lately. Fuck. Then I tried to clean up the bedroom and ended up half-way doing a bunch of stuff so it all looked worse in the end. “
She stood there with her heart pounding, knowing that she really had let herself down, feeling hopeless. She wanted to turn to him, to apologize, to beg him to forgive her. But she knew that he’d look surprised, shake his head. He’d say, “It’s not me you need to apologize to, it’s you. Apologize to yourself!” Plus she’d be in trouble for getting out of the corner.
So she waited, so intent on her own shame that she didn’t hear him come up behind her. Didn’t know he was there til she felt his hand in her hair, taking hold of her from behind, using her hair to turn her towards him.
His eyes were sympathetic as he took in her tear stained face. “Poor baby,” he said. “You’ll do better. I know you will. And I’ll spank your ass til you can’t sit comfortably before I put you to bed, you don’t have to worry about that.”
“I wasn’t – ” she started to say ‘exactly worried about that,’ but managed to stop herself. She saw his lips curve up and knew he had heard her, but he went on, “First though, I want to try something new. New Year, new punishment seems like a good idea.”
She waited anxiously – she loved his creativity, but it could be a mixed blessing.
“Go get a towel,” he said, releasing her.
She hurried to the bathroom, grabbed a clean towel, rushed back. He was standing in front of his recliner, looked at her sharply, and she realized this was not the presentation he expected. Quickly, she knelt, eyes downcast, offering him the towel in both hands.
He nodded, “Better. You’ll get 10 extra later for that poor behavior. But for now, stand up.” He took the towel, gestured her to come with him to the other side of the room. He stopped by her computer, laying the towel on her chair. “Sit,” he said.
She obeyed him, surprised and curious.
She had not noticed that he had gotten out the nipple clamps until he pinched her left nipple. She watched, dismayed, while he attached one clover clamp to that nipple, pinched the right nipple. Hard.
Once the clamps were on, he said, “Hurt?”
She nodded, “Yes, Sir.”
He smiled, “Good. Should help you focus while you write about your experience tonight. Start with where you tell me you were a four today. End with whatever you think is going to happen after this. I won’t leave the nipple clamps on too long – let’s say 10 minutes. Then we’ll take them off. Give you five minutes to work with them off, then 10 minutes back on. I’ll set my alarm now and you can get started.”
“Sir!” she said, she had not expected this, and didn’t much like it.
“Yes,” he said, looking innocently curious. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes, I,” she glanced down at the clamps, oh, this was going to suck. “Sir,” she said, but then it trailed off because really, what could she say?”
“Thank you?” he said, and if he was laughing a bit, at least he tried to hide it. “Did you mean to say ‘thank you, sir, for coming up with this idea”?”
“Um…” nipple clamps biting into her nipples, knowing that would come off and go back on at least once and maybe many more times, “um… yes, sir, thank you, sir, that’s exactly what I meant.”
He grinned. “Excellent. Go ahead then and get started.” He kissed the top of her head, gave the chain between the clamps a quick jerk that made her gasp.
It was hard to get started, to turn the computer back on and settle into the rhythm of the writing, but she began.
“How was your day?” he asked…