It’s Friday. Usually Friday is her favorite day. She and Sir do their “check-in,” reviewing the expectations of the week. If there has been some infraction on her part, she accepts her punishment and feels better. But she’s not looking forward to it today.

Looking through the ledger, she sees that there are a lot of things left undone this week. Sir is not going to be pleased. She wishes she had checked the list last night when she could have still done something about it. But he will be here any minute and she’s still sitting here, almost completely dressed, studying her infractions.

She can hear him coming down the stairs.

Frozen, she waits.

His footsteps down the hall and she just wants to disappear. For a moment, she thinks wildly about hiding under the desk, but it’s too late anyhow.

He stops in the doorway. “Sonya?” he says. Surprised, but not yet angry or disappointed. She can’t face him.

He moves quickly to stand in front of her, placing his hand in her hair at the nape of her neck, he tilts her head up so she is looking directly at him.

“Sonya,” he says, “Are you sick? Hurt?” One hand still fisted in her hair, the other strokes her cheek kindly. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

But she shakes her head, tears welling up. She knows if she starts to talk, there will be sobs.

He looks at her intently, head cocked, and she can see him evaluating her. “Not sick or hurt?” he repeats. She shakes her head no, just one quick shake.

His face changes, as if a shadow has fallen over it. “Just disobedient then?” he says, and there is a trace of scorn in his voice. She drops her gaze, unable to face his disappointment.

He laughs – just a quick chuckle really, and she shivers a bit. “That’s ok,” he says. “I know how to help disobedient girls be good again.”

Again, she shivers. It’s been a long time since she’s needed this kind of – this kind of help, and she doesn’t want to go through it now, but her own choices have gotten her here. She reminds herself, “The only way out is through.”

She is going to thank him, but his next words stop her.

“All privileges are revoked, immediately.”

It is as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. She swallows hard and chokes back tears.

“Let me remind you what that means,” he says, and his voice is light, as if this is not a big deal, but she knows better. “You’re forbidden to speak without permission. Or move. No clothes or covering yourself. No orgasms. Maintain custody of your eyes.”

She begins to cry. She can’t help it, and his voice softens as he says, “You may cry, of course. And I imagine there will be moans and sighs and maybe some screaming. That’s allowed too.”

His voice is firm and clear as he adds, “I’m going to take your clothes. But before that, I need to know that you want this. That you consent wholeheartedly. I need to know that you want to be – not just A good girl, but MY good girl again.”

She wants to cry out, “YES, Sir, I do!” and maybe throw herself at his feet, but she knows that’s not allowed. So she waits –

Until he pulls her to her feet. Then he steps back, leaving her feeling a bit shaky on her own. He says, “You may answer the question, girl.”

Carefully keeping her eyes down, she says, “Yes, Sir, please. I do want to be your good girl. Very much.”

He adds, “Then you agree to accept my guidance and discipline, however I feel it is best delivered?”

The sound of that is terrifying, but she reminds herself, I do trust him. I do. And she says firmly, “Yes, Sir, I welcome your guidance and discipline in whatever way you offer.”

“Good girl,” he says. “And you know that you are still allowed to use your safe word.”

“Yes, thank you, Sir,” she says, hoping she hasn’t overused her permission to talk.

He doesn’t say anything else, but he takes her dress off her, quickly, not sensually at all. As if this is just another chore on his list. He lays the dress across the back of her chair. Strips her of her panties and bra with the same lack of interest.

“Give me your foot,” he says, and she rests one hand on the desk to keep her balance, raises her leg to allow him access to her foot. The heels she had carefully chosen this morning are removed, one at a time, and placed to one side.

“No need for Come Fuck Mes today,” he says.

She begins to cry – again, she thinks with dismay. Starts to wipe her cheeks with one hand, but he stops her, encircling her wrist in his hand.

“No,”he says firmly. “You do not have permission to touch yourself.”

And that makes her cry even harder.

“Hands behind your back,” he says releasing her wrist, and obediently she puts both hands behind her, laces her fingers together. The tears are still falling and she sniffs, her nose is definitely running. He doesn’t even seem to notice.

He steps away, returns with a collar. Not the pretty collar she usually wears for play sessions but a leather one, with four 0 rings. With the rings, he can attach her to other objects in a variety of ways. The leather is soft, old and a bit worn. It was already used when he first put it on her, used by she didn’t know how many other women before her.

He fastens it around her neck, adds leather cuffs to her wrists. She expects him to fasten the cuffs to the collar, but he doesn’t, so she re-positions them behind her back. A tap on her leg lets her know to raise her foot again, and the ankle cuffs go on. With her hands behind her back, she can’t lean on the desk, but it’s easier to manage barefoot.

The last thing to go on is a belt. Like the collar, the belt is soft leather, and there are 0 rings in the front, back, and on each side. He fastens a cuff to each side ring of the belt. He’s done this before, but always with a short chain that allows her arms to straighten comfortably. This time, there’s no length between the links and her arms are bent, hands on hips. The placement pulls her shoulders back and thrusts her breasts forward. It’s not painful, but not very comfortable. She’s sure this is exactly the effect he wants.

The discomfort is distracting and she stops crying. Sniffing hard a couple of times.

He puts one hand on the back of her collar, the other on the back of her belt and pushes her gently forward until they’ve crossed the room and she’s standing with her face in the corner.

This brings more tears – this is where she should have been when he came down the stairs today. She could have been right here waiting for him happily if she hadn’t made such crappy choices this week.

He taps the inside of one thigh and she opens her legs wider.

“I’m going to look at the ledger,” he says. “Consider your week, the things you’ve done and not done, and we’ll go from there when I’ve finished.”