AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thanks to JonB1969 for his editing skills. This chapter's two bits are from reader's comments, which were really appreciated!
I've written a one-shot story in BDSM, but it didn't really delay getting this chapter out. I've been 'out of sorts' lately. It's called, "Driving Adventure."
We last left off with Hamish punishing Gayle for sassing back to him...in a bad way. She wants a little freedom, but doesn't go about it the right way.
*****
Saturday, September 7th, 2013
"You've been a bad boy, haven't you?" I circle Hamish slowly and deliberately, like prey.
He is standing naked at the foot of his bed, his hands cuffed behind his back and blindfolded. His shoulders are tense, yet he stands strong, his legs occasionally wobbling when I run my fingernail down the small of his back. His cock is rock hard, twinging when I run my fingernails over an ass cheek, then the other.
"Yesss, Ma'am," he grunts.
Hearing the incorrect title, I smack his right cheek then the left. His cock springs up in response. "Now, now, Mr. McDougal," I say, my tone heavy with authority and mockery, "is that how you are to address me?"
"No, Mistress. I'm sorry, Mistress."
"Yes, I'd say you are pretty sorry. Why are we here?" I ask him, standing beside him so I can get a look at his face.
"Because I burnt your breakfast, Mistress."
"That's right. I think you did it intentionally so I'd have to make it for you. Am I correct?"
He hesitates a moment, and I can tell he's struggling with the correct response.
Eagerly awaiting his reply, he finally says, exasperated, "No, Mistress. I ... I told you I can't bloody cook!"
It takes everything I have not to laugh, but I do smile. "Well, in that respect you were correct. Do you think I should still punish you?"
I don't care what his reply is. I'm going to enjoy punishing his ass regardless. I am going to tease him relentlessly until he begs me to make him cum.
This time he doesn't hesitate. "If it pleases you, Mistress." His breath is heavy now, causing my swollen pussy to tingle and ache, the moisture building thickly.
"Good answer. You're learning," I say sarcastically. I love using the same words he's used against me.
Standing in front of him, I look up and down at his taut, muscular body, admiring his effort of working out to be in the best shape possible.
"Now, remind me again how many sausage links you burned, Mr. McDougal."
"I burned three, Mistress," he croaks, his voice ripe with tension and dread.
"And the toast you happened to crisp to a charcoal black and now only suitable for a hockey puck?"
"All four, Mistress."
"Hmm. So, that's seven. Somehow I don't think that's enough. Should I double or triple the punishment?"
I can see his Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallows hard from his foreboding situation. "Whatever pleases you, Mistress."
I'm not sure if he is repeating that because that's what he thinks I want to hear or to make me angry. I don't tell him how many he will receive. Instead, I unlock him from the restraints then instruct him to bend over, place his elbows on the mattress, keeping his forehead on the mattress and his legs together. If I tell him to spread his legs, I just might hit his jewels with the leather strips of the flogger, and Mr. McDougal's jewels are a useful tool; tugging and pulling lightly with a gentle squeeze always gets his full attention.
When he is in position, I slowly run the pads of my fingers up his back, starting from the crack of his ass to the nape of his neck. His skin breaks out in goose flesh as he inhales sharply. I know I have him right where I want him.
"Now, Mr. McDougal, I want you to count off each punishment as I give them to you. You will not be allowed your safe word, but you may use red or yellow if need be. Yellow I will lessen the impact, red I will give you a moment to gather yourself. Do you understand?"
"Yes Mistress," he sighs.
"Good. I won't tell you how many you will receive, but you will count." Smiling, I stand by his hip, rub his ass once before giving it a good smack.
"One, Mistress."
Apparently he's been working out his gluteus maximus as well because my hand stings more than his cheek, I am sure. I smack his other cheek with the same impact, and this time I'm sure I broke the bones in my fingers.
"Two, Mistress," he grunts.
A bolt of lightning from the window distracts me for a moment, and I decide to use the riding crop to save my precious hand. I run the rubber square over his ass cheeks before I swiftly slap each, listening to his reaction. His grunts tell me the impacts are enough, but not too much. With each smack he counts off, and his cheeks grow to a very pretty pink.
"Eeeeight, Misssstresss."
A deep rumble of thunder fills the room; I am too busy to have noticed the lightning. I spend a moment and rub his cheeks, smiling when he groans at how sensitive his cheeks must be feeling.
"You're doing well, pet," I tell him, satisfied he is taking his punishment very well.
But instead of a reply, I hear a gravelly, throaty snore.
"Mr. McDougal! Am I BORING you?!" I ask, my tone as livid as I can make it.
A sudden flash of lightening causes me to hesitate and look out the window. Sheets of heavy rain are pelting the panes, the instantaneous boom of thunder erasing the falling water streams.
Again, Hamish snores, so I slap each of his ass cheeks, but this time he doesn't count off, nor does he move. I look out the window again, expecting the rain to be gone, but instead it still trails down the window, another flash of lightning and thunder makes me shudder.
I bring my hand back to smack him awake, but the back of my hand vanishes into thin air. "What the ..."
Her legs kicked out from under her, her eyes flew open as she looked at the same window in her dream, the window in Hamish's bedroom. Rain was pounding on the panes from the horrendous wind; a flash of lightning made her close her eyes from the sudden blinding assault. Then she remembered what she was doing in her dream. She was punishing Hamish.
Hamish!?! What the fuck was I doing?!
She rolled over when she heard a snore behind her, and sure enough, Hamish was fast asleep and snoring in his bed. She sighed and threw her head on the pillow, thankful that it was just a dream. Then her bladder screamed at her.
Slowly and carefully, she slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom in the hall, since she was more comfortable going into
her
bathroom than her boss's. Closing the door, she rested her head in her hand, willing the vision of a Hamish with bright red ass cheeks out of her brain. When she went to wipe herself, she was appalled that she was wet ... wet from the dream? That fact alone instantly woke her up, knowing she was turned on with what she was doing. She didn't have a dominant bone in her body - or did she?
She'd always been self-assured and confident about the decisions she'd had to make in her fairly short life, but she had never controlled anyone else in her life. After her mother's stroke, her confidence had only grown stronger. Still, having a submissive and controlling them was just not who she was.
"Hot chocolate. I need hot chocolate," she mumbled.
Putting on her robe and slippers, she headed downstairs, thankful Bessie stayed in her doggie bed and didn't follow her. Several minutes later, frustrated she couldn't find any, she settled on a cup of coffee and headed back upstairs. For some reason she found herself in the bedroom - soon to be her bedroom, if she behaved herself - and turned on the small lamp just at in the nook.
Wrapping her arms around her knees on one of the two benches by the window, she watched the raging thunderstorm and sipped her coffee, lost in her thoughts of how excited she'd become from the dream.
"Gayle?"
She jumped a little, though didn't spill any coffee when she heard his voice. He was standing in the doorway, the light of the hallway giving his profile an almost spooky glow. His hair was all tousled, and his boxers were wrinkled from sleep.
She quickly straightened her legs and put her feet on the floor so as not to flash her boss. "Hi, Sir."
Smiling, he asked, "May I join you?" Bessie, who Gayle hadn't noticed standing behind him, barked. "Oh, excuse me, Princess. May
we
join you?"
"Sure." After he sat across from her and Bessie lied down at his feet, she said, "I'm sorry I didn't make you any tea. I thought you were sleeping."
He waved his hand. "It's alright. You're quite calm right now." She looked at him confused. "I believe I recall you telling me you get ... hyper during storms."
"Oh, right. I
can
get hyper, if I'm not half asleep."
"Hmm. How's your bum?"
She should have been used to his abrasiveness, but it still caught her off guard. "It's fine, Sir."
"No lies, Gayle. How do you feel about earlier, your punishment?"
"What?" The question was out of left field, which stunned her. She hadn't really thought about it. "It, um, took me a while to get to sleep."
He smiled, but she wasn't sure how to take it. "No, I meant what did you learn?"
"To keep my big mouth shut," she replied honestly.
He laughed, just as his face was illuminated by lightning. "That's not really an answer."
She shook her head. "I know, Sir. I deserved it, but I'm not sure I liked not being able to keep some things to myself. I wish -"
Stopping suddenly when a bolt of lightning lit up the small space, her breath caught in the back of her throat, and her mind went completely blank. She hated that familiar, embarrassing burn on her cheeks. He was incredibly gorgeous, more so than she ever had seen him before. His eyes sparkled - rays of amber shot from the corneas. His ruffled hair made him look like a little boy, a precocious, curious, innocent little boy. But fuck, he was hot as hell; that's what her pussy screamed at her. Wanting to run and hide, fearing he'd read her thoughts, she turned and stared out the window.
They sat in silence for several long minutes before she said, "I get hyper during thunderstorms because one summer, when I was with Granny and Grandad in Florida, a tropical storm came through. It scared the shit out of me. I went crying and screaming into the bathroom and locked the door." She laughed at the memory. "I wouldn't come out until Granny promised me hot chocolate. Anyone could have bribed me with hot chocolate."
He smiled at her. "I'll have to remember that."
Taking a sip, she said, "I thought it was strange how the birds sound different here, but the thunder does too."
