This is my first erotic story, and I hope everyone enjoys it. I know it won't be perfect, and I am writing more, when the chance arises.
Thank you so much for giving me your time! I hope it's worth it!
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The first "smack" startled me more than I could have ever imagined it would. It started a slow bubble of emotions within me I had never felt. His first pop brought stinging tears to my eyes.
They were tears of shame, and of joy. They were tears of pride in my Master.
We had always had our own roles in the bedroom. I was always on bottom, and he was always clearly in control. Every now and then we would break out the handcuffs or a little rough play though it never went any farther than that. Little did he know of my strong desire to serve him. I always found myself wanting something... more. I wanted to be his, to serve and to be guided. To please him in ways I couldn't in our normal terms. My desire to be loved and cherished above all else in his eyes was surpassed only by his feelings against the arrangement. I wanted our roles in the bedroom to reflect into our everyday lives.
He found the idea of being on unequal grounds quite disconcerting, as he saw it a different light than I did. However I had decided it was time for me to once more confront him on the issue.
The second "smack" of the belt set my bottom ablaze as well as my pussy. The shame, the pain, the thrill; It's what I had wanted so desperately for so long. The well of emotion within me was beginning to spill over, yet I held back as best I could.
He and I discussed the issue over a nice lunch at one of our favorite restaurants. First he was taken aback, appalled, even. I did everything I could to explain to him my deeply seeded necessity for the change in our relationship. My eyes were giving away my urgency. With a voice as calm an autumn breeze, I tried once more to talk him into some kind of agreement. He slightly raised his hand to me, cutting me off before I could get so much as a few words out to end my bargaining. I knew this discussion was over. I sat back in defeat with a small huff, twisting the ends of my auburn hair to distract me from the tears pushing against my eyes. My heart hit the floor.
The third "smack" brought a new onslaught of tears to my eyes, finally tipping the delicate balance sending streams of mixed emotion past the boundaries of my eyelids. I could feel my eyelashes sticking together with tears. My ass was becoming an inferno, and tears were now beginning to spill between my legs. I set my jaw, readying myself for the next blow.
He called me up later that day. His voice was tight and low as if he were expertly holding back from something. I could hear the steel in him, and it sent a thrill down my spine. Without any extra banter, he notified me that I was to be waiting on his doorstep at exactly 8:00pm. I was told to wear his favorite skirt, my newest pair of heels and any kind of plain, tight fitting top, and nothing under the simple ensemble. He paused after his instruction, and I could feel his indecision. The line was abruptly dropped. I could feel my heart as it all but pounded its way out of my chest. My excitement was already beginning to build; though more than likely he was trying to make up for our awkward lunch. Regardless of his reasoning, it was still an incredibly attractive proposition. With a shaky breath I set about readying myself.
The fourth "smack" brought more shame and regret than I thought I could ever possibly feel, yet there was a tiny pin prick of pure happiness within me. I was buried in confusing emotions: shame, happiness, trepidation, relief, desire. So many emotions I didn't know I would feel. I sobbed quietly, hoping all had been reconciled.
I laid out my wardrobe on my bed. His favorite skirt, a feminine but not overly-frilly loose fitting short black skirt alongside a very well fitting dark grey v neck to showcase my round B cup breast, and my newest knee high patent lace-up boots; An average outfit for me, simple, edgy, and flattering. I hopped into the shower like an eager school girl readying for my first high school dance. The hot water made goose bumps rise on my flesh, turning it a light pink shade.
Butterflies boiled within my stomach as I shaved and washed, and conditioned my hair for added silkiness. I rinsed off and stepped out of the bedroom, steam curling off my skin like personified tendrils of my lust.
The clock on my bedside table displayed 7:38 in red. I licked my lips, the color sending a subconscious shiver through me. I pulled the skirt over my curvy hips, my hair striking my shoulders like tiny whips every time I turned my head, spraying tiny droplets of water onto my bed. I wrapped a towel around my hair and stepped into my boots, lacing them up as fast as I could.
I pulled the towel off my head, rand my fingers through my hair a few time to separate some of the larger curls and finally pulled the shirt over my head. Looking into the full sized mirror I thanked my past self for the boots. Standing at a measly 4 feet and 10 inches I needed as much height as I could get. I turned to admire my curves for a moment before heading out, the clock glaring a dangerous 7:49pm. I wouldn't make it by 8.
Pulling into his driveway the digital clock on my dash read two minutes after eight in a garish green. He stood in the doorway, framing it with his presence. His shoulders were squared off, and his eyes were steely and well controlled.
