10 minutes in the corner doesn’t sound very long, unless you’re the one doing the 10 minutes. It seemed like an hour to me, standing in that slightly uncomfortable position, carefully maintaining the poseture he had set, waiting for the promised “good, hard spanking.”

I knew that I was supposed to focus on what I had done wrong, but my mind kept wandering to the spanking. Would he use his hand – just his hand? Over his knee or over the ottoman? Or the arm of the couch, or just kneeling on the floor with my ass up? He might even leave me in the corner while he spanked me. That always seemed extra humiliating to me.

As I tried to bring my attention back to what I’d done wrong – and really, what had I even done wrong? I’d obeyed him. Pretty much – well, almost immediately. Mentally sighing, i acknowledged that I had not obeyed with alacrity.

He had insisted I learn the definition of alacrity. “Physical quickness,” I would recite, “with eagerness or enthusiasm. Or both. It should be eager, enthusiastic quickness. You should be able to see that it makes me happy to obey you.”

Fudge-sickle. I had not done that. Given the opportunity to demonstrate that, I had definitely failed. And I do love to obey him – just not at that moment.

This is why I hate the corner, I reminded myself. Coming to terms with my own flaws and imperfections sucks. Worst of all, I knew I’d never be perfect, I’d never get it right all the time. AND – to make it even worse – I knew that he enjoyed these tests and punishments. Although we had plenty of fun spankings, It was a particular pleasure for him to have a good reason to punish me.

I almost laughed at the peculiar frame of mind that created for me. I wanted dreadfully to always please him, hated falling short of what he expected, and at the same, I knew that he loved to see me struggle like this, and would enjoy my discomfort – so did that mean he delighted in my failure? That I pleased him when I failed?

I was so lost in this conundrum that I missed the gentle ding of the timer and quite suddenly felt him behind me again. “Come,” he said. “Over the ottoman.”

“Yes, Sir,” I said, “Thank you,” moving with what I hope looked like alacrity. I knelt in front of the ottoman, draping my torso over it. It was a low ottoman, and as I knelt, my hips were raised high, my ass offered up for his attention.

“Open your legs,” he said and I quickly spread my knees farther apart so my pussy was also exposed. The cool air between my legs made me shiver. I knew that I was wet and hot and longed for him to touch me there.

Instead, nothing happened. I could hear him moving around behind me, but couldn’t see what he was doing and couldn’t tell from the sounds at first.

Then I heard the coffee maker. Sounds that might have been him getting a cup out and pouring. And then – much to my dismay – I heard him talking and realized he’d made a phone call.

I don’t know why it is harder to hear when you are face down on an ottoman, ass in the air, waiting to be spanked. But he was speaking quietly on the other side of the room. I was listening carefully and had just about decided that he was talking to another Dom, a good friend of ours. Then I realized I was quite intentionally eavesdropping, and that if he had intended for me to hear the conversation, he would have made sure I could.

Ugh. This was not how a good girl submissive behaved. This was more like a brat, and I was absolutely not a brat. I carefully redirected my attention to wondering what he would spank me with and how long it would last. That kept my attention for quite a while. When that made me feel too anxious, i redirected myself to thinking about how lovely it would be if I could taste his cock, savoring the sensation of it on my tongue, filling my mouth, hitting the back of my throat…