Anticipation

Susan checked her watch, 4:30 pm – only 20 minutes since she last checked the time; it was dragging so slowly. There was no way she was going to be able to leave before 5:30, it just wasn’t done these days, not even on a Friday. And it wasn’t as though she didn’t have a mountain of work to do … she just had no interest in doing it. No, her thoughts were elsewhere, two hours up north on the F3, where her Master would be waiting for her.

It was always this way on a Friday afternoon. The only thing that saved her from the wrath of her Managing Partner was the fact that she worked so damn hard every other day (and night) of the week that she was able to cover her work load in spite of her Friday sloth. Of course, Master knew about her performance, in this, as well as every other area of her life. He frequently, nay weekly, punished her for this lack of self-control. That such punishments were well earned she did not doubt, but that did not prevent them from searing her very soul just the same. She hoped that one day she would actually be able to report to him the benefits of his tutelage in this area and progress to the next stage in her journey towards total obedience.

She was prepared, as required, in the usual manner. Master never allowed her panties and required skirts or dresses to be worn – no trousers for this lady! At first Susan had been terribly embarrassed about this. The thought that someone might find out that she was naked under her skirt sent shivers up her spine. But it hadn’t taken long for her to recognise the pleasure to be gained through those shivers, and her Master’s requirements for shorter dresses and stockings were soon greeted with enthusiasm rather than trepidation. (It was always stockings – never pantyhose or bare legs allowed. He was ever such a stickler for detail!)

Nowadays, Susan relished in the pleasure of feeling wickedly naked while fully dressed at work, delighting in her delicious secret. Often, when seated alone in her office she would pull up her dress behind so that she sat on her naked bottom. The leather of her chair feeling sensuous against her bare buttocks and thighs – it was not unusual for there to be a hint of dampness on the chair when she got up, and the faint scent of arousal in the air (before the air-conditioning could waft it away). Her secretary had certainly given her rather odd looks from time to time and Susan wondered how much she knew.

And then of course there was the extra special pleasure of Monday mornings (and often Tuesdays as well) when sitting bare on the leather was accompanied by the bitter-sweet pain of fresh weals, the latest of which were sometimes earned only several hours before starting work in the pre-dawn session with Sir. Oh, how exquisite it was to wriggle in the chair and cause those marks to flare up again. The severity of her sessions on the weekends were now such that the inner fires would stay with her almost all week. Of course not all her marks were on her bottom, and she always wore something high-necked as well as a little longer for the first couple of days after the weekend.

Friday mornings required a little more care and attention than other days, and she had risen half an hour earlier to attend to these details. To start with, there was the enema. Sir made regular use of her behind and was insistent on her readyness and cleanliness in that department. He enforced a rule that gave her every reason to comply – anything that went into her anus went in her mouth afterwards. Suffice to say that Susan was keen that this rule didn’t leave her with a nasty taste in her mouth! Ideally she would have performed this operation after work, but she lacked the facilities – it would be difficult to explain to the other girls if they caught her administering herself an enema in the ladies bathroom. So the morning it had to be.

After bathing, she had shaved her sex and (so very carefully) right through to her behind to make sure her whole pubic and anal area was totally depilated. This had taken her some time to perfect when her Master had demanded this of her. But now she had worked out how to position herself with a mirror such that she could complete the job without threatening injury to this sensitive area. When this was finished, she thoroughly lubricated herself “fore and aft” and inserted an anal plug. Later in the day, when she had finished her work, she would be required to insert a vibrator in her sex as well and turn it on. And now for the bra. On Fridays, her bra was required to be liberally sprinkled with itching powder; no wonder this young women had little interest in work on Fridays!

Next came her make-up. This always needed to be just a little less than subtle, just a shade whorish (oh how the boys would gather to the honey pot on Fridays and the senior staff would tut-tut and secretly wish they could get their hands on her). Of course the female staff all took it with a deal of bitching and let her know in all those little ways that women do that the men never notice. But Susan was far too pre-occupied with her coming weekend to care about the office gossip and anyway, she knew with that inner glow of satisfaction that they would really have something to gossip about if only they knew the truth about her. Of course they didn’t know about the rouging of her nipples, the “stay-fast” lipstick on the lips of her sex and anus (the last being so very hard to get right and she had to be careful not to smear it with the lubricant and the butt plug).

A smart business suit, stockings and high heels completed her preparations for the day. Oh God how her breasts itched!! Sir was a wise Master to impose this discipline on her, but how she longed to tear her top off and her scratch her tits on the way to work. What a victory it was to get through an early client meeting without once losing concentration or fiddling with her blouse. Some mornings she would grab five minutes with the door to her office shut while she lay her head on the desk, clutched her hands behind her back and indulged in a long low moan. It was such a pleasure to focus her mind on the irritant and think “through” it to gain some peace. Five minutes usually brought such peace for an hour or so, though it also brought tears which she would hastily have to dry and then repair her make-up.

And Friday mornings also required her to pack an extra bag for the weekend. Not a lot, as Master didn’t require her to dress a great deal, and most of what was required was already waiting for her at the house on the lake. Mostly it was things she needed for the afternoon for preparation and Monday’s business wear. And things like a extra pairs of stockings. Sir would not appreciate her arriving with a ladder in her stockings – hell! these days she earned a dozen strokes of the birch for having crooked seams! Always there was a whip and a strap that Sir required her to have with her at all times. He would love her with that tawse more than once on the weekend. Oh how it stung, but oh how she loved him for the thrashings he gave her.

And here it was 4:30 with an hour to go. Already her quim was aching with sweet desire and she could feel the swish of the cane, the crop, the hairbrush, the tawse and the martinet – she would feel them all this weekend, probably tonight. Would he start with a whip. She loved the whip, she loved them all each in their way, but with the whip, she loved the grandness of it, trussed up with her hands bound above her head and hoisted until she stood on tiptoes – he liked to make her wear a special pare of punishment shoes that had impossibly high heels that had her tottering about all over the place. It was a challenge to walk across the room in them and certainly achieved a degree of discomfort that was hard to imagine until you’d put them on. Being on tiptoes with those barely gave her any purchase on the ground at all. At these thoughts, Susan discretely uses a couple of tissues to mop moisture from the seat and her soaking nether lips, her body clenching deliciously on the plug in her bottom reminding her that it must shortly be joined by a buzzing vibrator in her pussy.

Yes, he often greeted her at the house, their “chateau” as they liked to refer to it, opening her car door, giving her a hug and a deep kiss – then an order “prepare for inspection – and then it will be the whip”. No pretence, no prevarication, as soon as she arrived he would inspect her for conformance to his requirements and then beat her in one way or another. It was their way and she adored him for it – she adored the honesty, the raw passion, even the pain; for out of it flowed a pleasure far beyond anything she had ever felt with anyone else. If she needed to be whipped to feel so alive then lay on and lay on with a will. Sir always did. She couldn’t remember a time when he’d given her a gentle thrashing, a pretend spanking, even the first time. Oh, they’d talked of limits and safe words, but that had quickly been overtaken by the reality of their mutual needs and even that initial session had hurt like the dickens (what a phrase she thought to herself).

Yes the whip, with her toes in those horrid shoes, barely touching the floor, and she would otherwise be naked. The plug removed from her bottom and shoved in her mouth – it made an excellent gag until she spat it out to howl at the top of her lungs – she would wait as long as possible to do that. In that position, the whip could get at her properly. Sir liked to give her an “all over tan” first up. That meant she would be whipped from neck to knees both front and back. He loved to flog her tits – after a day with the itching powder they were so sensitive, but then so was her sex after countless orgasms as she drove up the freeway with that damn vibrator buzzing away inside her.

It was a miracle each Friday night that she arrived at the chateau without accident given that she spent a good part of the journey off her brain with pleasure and the other half as irritated as hell! Oh, for sure he would catch her between the legs, her inner thighs and sex were prized targets, and she would do everything within her power to keep her legs closed. But they both knew that he would have legs flailing in all directions soon enough. It only took a few well placed lashes on the front or backs of her thighs and she wouldn’t be able to help herself. Of course this would be more of the nature of hors d’oeuvres. If Sir wanted to properly whip her sex and inner thighs, he would secure her appropriately with her legs thrust wide apart.

And after the whip? More than likely her would take his pleasure with her as she wept. He particularly enjoyed using her mouth while her tears fell. For Susan this was the a special pleasure, an abandonment of self for the pleasure of another. Paradoxically she would gain more from giving so much. In the past it had taken a lot to learn this golden lesson, but once learned she could now find paradise by bestowing it upon her lover, her Master. After that there might be cuddles and caresses and maybe some dinner.

After that, they would get really serious; Susan could barely contain her rush to the Ladies and how she managed to keep her fingers from her gushing pussy she’ll never know. Oh how she loved weekends!