Standing in the corner, nose almost to the wall, always made her acutely aware of her submission. The plug in her ass added to that immensely. It was not something she would have chosen for herself, there was always some resistance to it. Once it was in, she adjusted, at least, her body adjusted, it wasn’t that bad. But it was a constant reminder that the choice was not hers.

What had he told her to think about? Oh. What happened to naughty girls who had orgasms without permission. Damn. She was pretty sure there were some punishment licks in her future for that. The thought of it made her pussy throb, which was irritating. She didn’t like being punished, but it did make her incredibly hot.

Maybe orgasm denial. That could happen too. She hoped that wasn’t the case. But yes, it probably would be. Despite herself, she smiled. She loved that kind of submission, being controlled. And if it was a bit humiliating to be forced to beg for release, when he did allow it, it would be mind-blowingly amazing.

She sighed a bit, feeling pleased. Yes. That was what kept her delighted by their relationship. So much pleasure, and in such unexpected ways. Submitting to him was –

Before she could finish that thought she got a sudden image of herself, bent over the arm of the big chair, begging him to stop. Struggling to stay in place while his strap, or the punishment paddle, or, worst of all, the crop., landed across her ass and upper thighs.

What did her submission mean to her? Clearly, it wasn’t just pleasure for herself. So what was it?

Again, an image guided her thoughts. Herself, kneeling in front of him, hands resting on her wide-spread thighs, palms up. She felt her body settle more deeply. It wasn’t really about pleasure, was it? Or pain. It was about offering herself. The feeling deep inside that made her long to please him, long to be accepted in a profound way. The rest of it – the pleasure and the pain – were really just ways of expressing that.

Well, and the control. It was really such a gift to her, that he was willing to show her that she didn’t have to be responsible for everything all the time. Twice a week, every Wednesday and Saturday, he showed her that he was willing to take control, to let her release everything and just be. She didn’t have to think, didn’t have to decide anything.

And that thought led her to another. He had asked her, twice, if she was ready to accept her punishment. And what had she said? Twice, she’d said no. Good grief. What had she been thinking? The correct answer, of course, was “whatever pleases you, Sir.”

She shook her head. They’d been on a lovely roll for a couple of weeks now, no punishment, just a bit of playtime twice a week. But now, she bit her lip. Apparently, she needed, as he sometimes said, to be taken down a notch or two. She was pretty sure that was going to happen tonight.

She shivered, anticipating what might still be ahead of her. But underneath it all was a sense of relief. She didn’t have to worry about what would happen next. That was out of her control all together. All she would have to do is obey.