A Loss Of Control

It's hard to remain defiant and angry when you are kneeling in a corner for an undetermined period of time. I had tried, and for a period of time I was successful, but now I was wearing down. My back and knees ached, and I longed to stand and stretch, but I knew better. I had no idea exactly how long I'd been kneeling here; we both know I have no judgment on time, especially under these circumstances. My mind reeled as I recalled all of the horrible things I'd said to you. Defiance was replaced with embarrassment as I relived the events that took place when I got home today. It had been the day from hell, and normally on those days I come home seeking the comfort of your arms, seeking your advice. Today, however, was different. Today I lost it. Mentally I cringe as I remember calling you a "fucking asshole." Even as the words left my mouth, I knew they weren't the appropriate words to use. I remember how calm you remained, and how that calm made me even angrier, driving me further out of control.

At some point I realized how out of control I was, and I became even angrier with you. You waited until I had raged and screamed and cursed all I could. Even when I threw that book at you (oh, thank God I missed your head), you simply moved out of the line of fire and remained calm. At that point, however, you had had enough, and before I could blink, you had one hand gripped about my arm, and your other hand wound tightly in my hair, steering me towards our bedroom, and into this corner. The height difference between us allowed you to simply push down and position me on my knees. Once there, the hand in my hair pulled my head back, and you knelt low for just a moment, your lips against my ear. " You will stay here until I am ready to deal with your behavior." I tried to nod, a difficult task with my head pulled back. You left the room, and we both know I'll stay here in this position.

Embarrassment turns to sadness, as I kneel here, thinking about what I've said and done. And then, a flash of fear: I know I will be punished for this, and I know that part of the reason for this wait is to allow you the time to think and process and regain your calm, you never punish me in anger. Not that you punish me often... I'm usually your good girl. I love pleasing you; it's part of the basis of our entire relationship. I'm pretty sure that my behavior today will warrant what will surely be the strongest punishment you've ever given me. I start to wonder about what will happen, and the fear deepens. As much as I hate being punished, it's also one of those things I recognize that I need. I dread your return to the bedroom, and yet at the same time I wait for it, needing to be punished and hoping for the forgiveness that usually follows your discipline. As I hear your footsteps on the stairs, I shudder and tell myself that I will be able to take whatever punishment you determine, and I vow to myself to try and take it well.

The door to our room opens, and I'm aware that I'm almost hyperventilating, feeling so anxious and fearful. I wish I could turn and crawl across the room, throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. "Stand up and come over here to me, " you order, and I shiver at the cold tone of your voice. Slowly I rise, my knees shaking and walk carefully to stand before you, my eyes lowered. My hands are clenched into fists to stop the shaking, and I am quite sure that my face is very pale. "Strip," you order. With shaking fingers I undo the buttons on my blouse, sliding the silk off my arms. Spying the chair next to me, I fold the blouse carefully and lay it on the chair, and reach back to unzip my skirt, sliding it down over my hips and folding it as well. I step out of the black pumps and slip them under the chair. My mind recalls all the times I've stripped before you, often as a prelude to the exquisite lovemaking we share. How I wish I had handled things differently downstairs before! I gasp as pain sears across my thigh... when did you pick up that crop?... and in your cold tone you tell me to stop stalling. I remove my bra and panties as quickly as possible, and step again in front of you, nude. " I am going to punish you, " you inform me. I nod silently. There is always this verbal dance before a punishment, and sometimes I hate that the most, having to listen to your cold voice, having to say aloud my wrong doings and your insistence that I request to be punished.

"Who am I? " you ask, walking around me slowly.

"My Master," I reply softly, eyes still down.

"And is it appropriate to call one's Master a "fucking asshole"?" you ask. My eyes fill with tears. You are so much more than just a Master: you are my lover, my partner, my best friend, the last person on earth I should be calling names. The crop strikes again, across my ass. " I believe I asked you a question," you comment.

"No, Master, it was a very inappropriate remark to make, " I respond. Again, like downstairs, one of your hands grips my upper arm while the other hand grasps my hair tightly. You lead me into the bathroom, placing me before the sink. " I agree, " you inform me, " a highly inappropriate remark. " You reach for the liquid soap dispenser, and hold it before my face. "Open your mouth... I am feeling the need to wash that filthy mouth of yours" you remark. The soap tastes horrible, I can barely stop the gagging. My mouth is full of soap, and I'm trying to breath through my nose and not swallow this horrible soap. I fight the urge to spit it out, needing to show you I can accept your punishment. You reach for a washcloth, and run water over it, and turn to me. "Open wider.." you bark at me, and I try to, desperately trying not to swallow, and you force the wash cloth into my mouth, wiggling it around, coating the inside of my mouth with the soap. Tears escape my eyes, and I'm fighting the urge to vomit. I don't dare look up into your face. You reach for my hands and place them beside the sink, your hand on my back pushing me into a bent over position, 90', my soap filled mouth above the sink. " You are not to spit any out until I give you permission, is that clear?" you ask. I nod my head, staring into the sink, which is pure torment. You hand rests on the small of my back, and without further words you proceed to apply the crop to my ass, my thighs, leaving red lines down to my knees. The pain is unbearable, and yet I try to bear it, needing to bear it for you. I cannot cry out, for fear I will lose soap out of my mouth, or swallow it. Just when I begin to feel dizzy, your movements stop, and you tell me I may spit out the soap. I quickly obey that order! I reach for a cup, to rinse better, and your hand stops me. " I said you could spit, I said nothing about rinsing." I nod and step back in front of you again. "Do you have anything to say? " you ask, and I nod. " I'm sorry, Master, so very sorry, for calling you a fucking asshole, " I whisper, unable to look up at your face.

For several long minutes we stand there. Finally you move past me to the closet, and I can hear you rummaging for something. My eyes remain downcast, tears sliding down my cheeks. The backs of my thighs and ass are burning, stinging, and for a brief second I wonder if you're searching for lotion, then discard that thought, somehow knowing you are far from finished with me. I shiver, the bathroom cool, and the contrast of the cool air against my hot backside is noticeable. You brush past me again, and walk over to the tub. I cringe when I see what you're retrieved from the closet, watching as you hang the enema bag from the shower curtain. You watch my face, reading the flashing emotions. You know very well how much I hate this.

" I believe one of the many colorful phrases you used downstairs was that I was "full of shit," " you remark. A whimper escapes my lips. " It would seem that you need a lesson in exactly who is full of shit," you inform me. I watch silently as you fill the bag, and hang it again from the shower curtain rod. Much higher than you normally hang it, and I am aware that this increased height will increase the force of the flow. You point to the tub, directing me to step in, and slowly my feet move in that direction. More than anything I want to run from the bathroom, away from this, but I move forward, knowing that I must, knowing that delaying now will only increase the punishment. As I step into the cold tub, your hand pushes me down to my knees again. I recall the times we've done this before, and am acutely aware of the differences, no warming of the tub, no towels to rest on, no rubbing and encouragement from you. " Get that ass up in the air," you bark, and I lean forward, burying my head against my forearms. Your hand slaps my ass, hard... the crack of skin against skin and my sudden cry seem to echo in the room. Every welt on my ass burns with the imprint of your hand. I whimper again as you insert the nozzle in my ass. " You will take all of this... without stopping... and I expect you to hold it all in," your voice sounds so stern, not at all the way you usually speak to me, and this again highlights to me the severity of this punishment, reminding me of how I got here in the first place. Another equally hard slap jolts my entire body forward. " I did not hear a response."

" Yes, Master, I understand Master," I gasp, the words choked on my sobs. Almost immediately the rush of water flowing into me begins. I struggle not to cry out at the coolness... far cooler than you have ever used before. The cramping begins swiftly, and my silent sobs wrack my body. I can feel your eyes on me. I am shivering from the cold, combined with my sobs, and the pain crashes in waves through my body. The bag empties rapidly, from that height. The nozzle is jerked from me, and I try desperately to hold still. Another wave of cramping rolls through me, and I feel a flash of panic... I'm not sure I can take all this... and yet I have to...

Just when I think I cannot stand another second, I feel your hand grasp my hair, and you pull my head up, but in a gentle way. You tell me I may get up, and I move slowly. When I attempt to step over the side of the tub, another wave of pain rushes through me, and I start to stumble. Immediately, you're there, helping me, holding me up. For the first time in what feels like hours, I remember how much you care for me, and a fresh round of tears begins to flow. You seat me on the toilet, and stand before me, much to my horror. Shivering, sobbing, I cannot hold back and release what's inside me, even with you there. Always before you've allowed me privacy for this part, and your presence reminds me that this is part of the punishment. Although I've remained mostly quiet during all of this, at this point I begin to babble amidst the tears. " Master... please...I'm sorry...please forgive me Master... I'm sorry... I won't act that way again, ever... "

You wrap the large bath sheet around my shoulders, gently stroking my long hair back off my face. The gentleness of your touch breaks my heart, and I continue to sob and plead with you to forgive me. When I'm finished releasing everything, you guide me to stand. I'm still shaking enough that you need to help me stand. I glance up at you, and for the first time your face seems softer, not so stern and angry with me. Without words you lead me back to the bedroom, and I can't help but breathe a sigh of relief. You turn down the bedding and direct me to get into bed. I wince slightly as my tender backside brushes against the sheets, and turn to lie on my stomach. I am exhausted, mentally and physically, at this point. The warmth of the blankets feels wonderful. You sit beside me, stroking my hair, not saying anything. I've stopped crying and my breathing slows again.

" You took your punishment very well," you tell me. I am too worn out to say anything, but I do wriggle closer to you, my head against your leg. " I hope you learned a lesson."

I nod my head. " Yes Master, I am so so so sorry. "

In the ensuing silence, I am so close to sleep. My eyes blink open as you tenderly kiss my forehead. I know now that this is officially over: I have been punished and forgiven. "Sleep now" you tell me. I can barely nod. I hear your footsteps leave the room just before I fall asleep.