It had been a long day at work, far longer than usual. So much to do, and there were less than enough people to get it all done. Still, with a bit of extra effort, and by staying a little later than normal, it was all finally done. Sitting there, the low-pitched noise of the public bus a relaxing melody as the transmission lurched the machinated monster through its' gears. The dim lights gave the few people sitting nearby a tired, haggard look, yet still seemed to punctuate the public service announcements plastered over the seating areas. I was eager to be home, to strip out of the clothes I had been in for 12 hours, relax, and enjoy her company.
I had nothing special planned for the evening, just a bit of dinner, some wine, and a cozy evening in front of the fire. She had been such a good girl these last few weeks, and I was glad for another night without need to neither punish nor teach her a lesson. Just some quality time caressing her soft, smooth skin, enjoying its warmth and the way her body reacted to my light caresses. Lightly I sighed to myself, thinking ahead to how she would feel, what she might be wearing, the adorable way her demure blue eyes would flutter just a bit as she looked shyly down, sneaking glances up to meet my eyes.
**Her**
He was going to be pissed when he got home, but I didn't even care at this point. The day had royally sucked, and I felt I had every right to just screw off all damned day. I had done none of my usual chores, not the dishes, which still sat in the sink encrusted with last night's lasagna, not the vacuuming, nor the dusting. The laundry still lay piled in the corner, a slight sweaty odor wafting from it, and I hadn't even considered starting dinner. Hell, I hadn't even bothered changing out of the t-shirt I had worn to bed last night. Yep, he was going to go ballistic.
It had started shortly after he had left for work, the phone blaring through the lazy dream I was trying so hard to cling to. It was my mother, again, whining on and on about how my sister had gotten a promotion, was married with a house, nice car, and two "adorable" children. "Why aren't you working?" Her tone was both mocking and chastising at the same time, and I hated her for it. "Because I don't have too, and I don't bloody want to. I don't want kids yet, and just because you don't like how I live, doesn't mean I don't." I was quickly becoming agitated with her, she didn't ever seem to realize that I was 24 now, and living the life I had dreamed.
"Your father and I paid good money for you to go to college, and you waste it by not using your degree. Are you sure you're all right? Your not on drugs are you?" That worried, silly, condescending tone in her voice plucking my last nerve. "I never asked you to send me to that damned school in the first place. Yes I am fucking all right, and you know damned well I am clean, and have been for 6 years. I am happy and why the fuck can't you just be happy for me?" I had lost it, and was all but screaming into the phone now, manners be damned. Not paying attention to her sighs and protests, I slammed the phone down hard, and ignored her number for the next hour until she gave up, then erased her tearful messages on the voicemail.
**Him**
With a lurch, the bus stopped just down the block from my house, and slowly I rose and moved off of the conveyance, smiling softly to myself as I strolled home, whistling a simple tune. I didn't even notice at first that the porch light wasn't on, as it should have been, and slipped my key into the lock, turning it and the knob at the same time, to step into what should have been a lit foyer. The realization that something was not right slammed into my tired, cheerful mood like a ton of bricks, grating on my tired neck muscles as the little vein in my temple throbbed my edge of concern and displeasure.
She wasn't waiting in the foyer, so I hung my light jacket on the hook, and slipped off my shoes, wiggling my toes without though to stretch them out. Moving with purpose, I went straight to the living room, and stopped dead in my tracks. There she was, stretched out, still in her t-shirt from last night, two dirty plates in front of her. Looking around, I noted with growing anger that the shelves were still dusty, and the carpet lacked the tell tale lines from the Hoover in the closet. Sprawled on the couch, reading a book, I saw her eyes and head drop, looking down, avoiding my gaze. She didn't even speak, and I could almost see a slight tremble to her lips.
Without a word, I walked down the hall, pausing to look into the kitchen. Dishes still piled high in the sink, nothing on the stove cooking, and the oven off, I could feel my back and neck tighten quickly, and my heart rate start to climb. In a huff, I ascended the stairs, stalking like a raging bull into the bedroom, and glared around. The bed was unmade, and the laundry, which was supposed to be done today, was still piled in the corner, and I could smell the rank, musty smell rolling off of it. Yanking my clothes off and throwing them onto the pile, I slipped hurriedly into a pair of leather pants, and grabbed the flogger, slipping it onto the already attached loop at the waist.
**Her**
My heart skipped several beats as I heart his key in the door, and I considered running to the foyer, dropping to my knees and begging forgiveness. I was too terrified though, and still in a bratty mood. I could feel his gaze on my back, boring into me with anger and disappointment, and I knew I was in for it. I dropped my head and my gaze from the book I was reading, waiting for it to start. Then he walked away, the sound of his socked feet padding down the hall, pausing, then heading upstairs.
"Shit!" I thought to myself, knowing he had seen the dishes, the lack of dinner, and then the bedroom. I knew what to expect, and what was coming, and dreaded it, while at the same time being excited at the idea. I felt a little charge of electricity shoot through my abdomen, and the first hint of warmth between my legs. It was going to be a long, wonderfully uncomfortable night.
Knowing full well that he must be changing, I sat up, setting the book aside, and resting my hands in my lap. My head lowered, and my eyes cast fearfully, yet hungrily down, I awaited his return, heart fluttering and lip trembling. I sat there for what seemed an eternity, hearing nothing, hoping with all my heart that he wouldn't take long. I knew though that he would take his time, making me wait, drawing out my fear and anticipation, making me tremble with it.
**Him**
Sitting on the bed, collecting my thoughts, I waited, patiently letting the initial rush of anger pass, so I wouldn't lose control. I knew she was waiting, most likely fidgeting to hold her pouting, submissive pose on the couch. Fighting the smile on my face, I thought through what to say, and what I was going to do to punish her, knowing that at this point, she was being bratty for the sake of it.
I had a feeling it was coming, but was hoping that she would have held off till the weekend. She was never able to stay well behaved long; needing to let her inner child come out and earn her the punishment she craved and needed so badly. I knew her well at this point; we had been dating for three years, living together for the last two, since she had graduated college.
It was really a great arrangement, both of us getting what we wanted and needed from the other. I supported us both, my job more than paying for all that we needed, and she kept the house up, and tended to my needs as a master, while I saw to hers as my slave. Most of the time things went smoothly, as we discussed everything, leaving no secrets, no unspoken desires nor feelings. Most of our play was in the form of scenes, both discussed and planned, or impromptu as the mood struck. Every so often though, she would act out, her nature and desire to be truly punished for something she did flooding through her, and I would have to treat her as the willful child she became, breaking down her walls and bringing her to the deserved tears she ached for.
Finally, I decided I waited long enough, and rose from the bed, smoothing out the legs of my pants, and slowly walked out of the room and down the stairs. I found her just as I knew I would, seated on the couch, hands folded on her lap playing with the hem of her shirt, with her head down, striking red hair cascading down to frame her porcelain skinned face. Her toes were absently curling and uncurling, showing her inability to sit long without fidgeting, but I had to commend her, she was doing quite well.
**Her**
With a start, I realized he was standing in the doorway, and most likely had been for a few moments. I had been lost in reflection of my day, of past punishment sessions, and fantasies of what was to come. Fighting the urge to look up, to see his face and eyes, I spoke softly, almost pleadingly, knowing it would have no effect, "I'm sorry."
He said nothing in response, just standing there a moment longer, then moved to the couch, sitting slowly next to me, on my left. I felt the brush of leather against my leg, as his own leg came into contact with mine, and a spark of desire coursed through me, moistening my most secret places. Oh god I wanted him, wanted this, but the wait was killing me. How long would he draw it out this time before beginning?
**Him**
Waiting a moment, letting her realize I was there, I moved and sat next to her, on her left, letting my leather clad leg brush hers, seeing her tense, trying not to jump. Watching her a moment more, satisfied she wouldn't break position, and that she was all right, that some tragedy had not come to her attention to be the cause of her laziness, I reached up with my right hand and brushed her hair back behind her ear.
"Why aren't your chores done young lady?" My tone was commanding, even paced and deliberate, like a father chastising a young child. "I got in an argument with my mom this morning, and was angry all day. I'm sorry, sir." Her faltering, soft voice almost broke me, as it so often came close to doing, but I knew this game well, and would not relent. "That is no excuse. And you should not be arguing with your mother, she is, after all, still your mother. What do you think should be done about this?" Starting off in the same voice as before, but moving to a caring, sensitive tone with the last question, as I knew it would melt through her tough exterior, taking her to that little girl place in her mind she longed to be.
