Discipline Abandoned

You surprise me when you come in that front door in the middle of your work day, set a bag on the table and reach to give me a hug.

You hold me close, wrapping me in your strong arms in the most surprising and gentle of hugs, then catch my hand in yours, lifting it to your lips to kiss my finger tips. It is with some distress I see your expression change from tender to disappointment. Sniffing my fingers, you have caught a hint of my juices on them and ask of it in a very disappointed tone.

"You masturbated today. I told you not to, Slave."

It is with a guilty heart that I suddenly recalled I do recall your injunction now that I am reminded.

Dropping to my knees, I lower my head at your feet and beg forgiveness, knowing that explaining I had been falling asleep, exhausted from our passions of the night before when you told me and had simply forgotten is not an excuse for my disobedience.

"I am so very disappointed in you, Slave. I am home early because I had a surprise planned for you today. Do you remember what today is?"

As I struggle with my own disappointment in myself, and in trying to think what you refer to, I forget about the bags you have put on the table. I can't recall what today might be.

I am not surprised when you say I will have to be disciplined for my disrespect but I certainly am surprised when I find myself defiantly backing away from you. I can't understand my own reaction as I back away when you bring the crop out. I can't imagine what has inspired me to break discipline this way after what must be a year in training with you. I guess I am startled and fail to remember my lessons in trust with you. I am yet more shocked to find myself defiantly telling you to try it!

To my further dismay, you back away, putting the crop out of sight and I know I have really blown it. You have never just quit during a lesson and my fears go wild, wondering if you will give or trade me away to another Master. It is your right, and I know I must obey if you decide I am no longer worthy of your attention. When you walk silently away from me, I just want to beg, scream, cry; anything to make you know I am able to be the slave you have taught me to be, any penance you can ask of me to earn back your love and trust. But I don't understand just what I have done until you quietly say, "What a hell of a greeting this is, on the first anniversary of our contract."

I am certain I can't possibly feel more miserable until you tell me you have made dinner reservations and that I should get myself ready. Your voice is so quiet and distant when you speak to me. You hand me the bag from the table after pulling something out, and I find it contains an exquisite, nearly see through gauze gown in my favorite color.

As I start to dress, you sternly tell me to be still, then reach around my nude body, placing a butterfly against my clit and fastening it in place. I didn't think I can feel any less worthy of you until this moment. It is difficult to follow you out the door minutes later, dressed so fine, my nipples just visible through the very thin gown. I shiver in the cool breeze outside, the slit side of the gown exposing my thighs to the top, nearly to my panties.

You are still stern with me on the way there, remaining silent and not touching me in the cab. When we arrive at the restaurant, I am yet again terribly disappointed with myself when I hear you tell the waiter you are there to claim your reservation. You tell him to cancel the hired entertainments and services and that we will dine in the common area with the other patrons. I follow you meekly to the table and am glad you still pull out my chair to seat me before taking your own. I don't deserve even this courtesy and I know it, but am thankful you don't decide to humiliate me in public with my failures.

I have only just sat down when I see you move your toward your pocket. Seconds later, I am jolted upright in my seat when the butterfly suddenly kicked on at full power, vibrating intensely right against my clit. It is all I can do to sit down and try to appear normal, there being other diners at tables all around ours. It is with extreme relief that I feel the level go down gradually until it is just buzzing at a level guaranteed to leave me tense and distracted but not frantic. I will be able to enjoy the rest of the evening just the way things are. When the waiter comes to take our order, he approaches, and you quietly stare me in the eye sternly and ordered me NOT to make a sound or a movement to betray my feelings. Returning me to a very early level of discipline you taught me, I know what to expect next. As the waiter looks at me to take my order, I feel the butterfly smash rolling pulses of sensation in sudden waves, the intensity going up and down rapidly and randomly both, throwing not just my vagina but my entire nervous system into spasms. Struggling not to flinch or speak jerkily, I manage to just pick the first thing I see on the menu as you silently manipulate the remote control. It is with extreme relief that I watch the waiter turn, apparently unaware, to take your order next. The smile on your face is somehow not reassuring in spite of being the first I have seen this afternoon.

As the waiter leaves after taking your order, I am gratified to see your smile turn to me as you give me a tiny award, turning the vibrator back to a low buzz and quietly telling me I have done well. You tell me further, that you are pleased to see I have not forgotten all you taught me.

As we wait for the dinner appetizers to arrive, you give me a look I am not sure how to interpret and then quietly order me to remove my panties and place them on the table. In the year you have been teaching me, never have you asked such a thing of me, to abase myself such in a public place.

"Here? You mean go to the bathroom and bring them back?"

"No, I said exactly what I meant, Slave. You will remove your panties, and place them here on the table top so everyone here can see just how I train disrespectful slaves. You know how to do this, or do we need to relearn those lessons as well?"

Answering him, "No, Master. I understand", I stop questioning and move to obey.

Even as I reach under the table cloth to try and remove them with the least fuss possible, I notice a man and woman at the booth beside us watching me, and none too discretely. They smile back and forth with each other as I raise my gown under the table and shift my hips on my chair. I have some difficulty pulling them off my hips and markedly more trying to get them down past and around the garter and hose. Careful not to dislodge the butterfly and risk displeasing you again, I lean down, slip the panties over my high heels and place them on the table. I am rapidly dismayed both to note how loudly my purple panties clash with the white table cloth, there for all to see and simultaneously note the wide grins and whispers from the watchers on the next table over. When I notice the wet crotch is visible and move to fold them up, you quickly turn the dial up full blast and order me to leave them as they lie.

When the waiter returns with our meals, you give him a smile that says don't ask and put a $20 bill on the table, pushing it toward him. Nodding, he picks it up, turns away with a wide smile and moves on as if he hasn't noticed a thing. The rest of dinner is a torment of watching people walk past and stare at my wet panties, watching the stares, looks of humor and a few outright leers and it is only half way through my plate that I realize it can't be coincidence that every single table there has managed to walk past and stare. When you see the look dawn on my face, you smile at me so cattishly I nearly giggle, only to have you burst the butterfly back on high yet again, jolting me into a quick struggle against orgasm.

For awhile, I think the dinner will never be over with. After leaving another substantial tip for the waiter, we rise and I follow you to the door where a taxi waits to take us home, snagging my panties off the table as I rise. You tell me to carry them in my hand, forbidding me to hide them in my purse when you notice gestures toward that end. Walking is absolute torment by now, every nerve in my vagina is jangling and pleading for a release I know is not going to be found soon with the errors of my ways this day. In the taxi, you sit on the bench next to me, tweaking my nipples just beyond the comfort range all the way home.

We enter our home, and as the door closes, your demeanor changes to the stern and yet loving master I know and I realize my lessons are far from with over this day. Without looking at me, you order me to undress and assume a position on my knees. It is with both relief and trepidation that I see you gesture to the exercise mat used for long trainings. I strip quickly, taking care to hang the gown carefully over a chair before going to the mat to rest with hands and elbows on the floor, my buttocks raised to expose me to whatever punishment you have decided I merit. Fearing I will break discipline again, I close my eyes and rest my head on my hands, awaiting my fate. I don't have long to wait. I hear your soft steps approach me and remain still with eyes closed, awaiting the first sting of training.

It is with extreme surprise I feel something pressing into my vagina instead of the whipping I know I have earned but I can quickly tell this won't be a pleasure. My tissues, already overly sensitive and swollen from the hours of teasing from the butterfly are less than receptive of this large intrusion and I moan at the sting as you press the dildo home. I feel you doing something with the butterfly, then jerk in near agony as it turns back on high and I realize you have placed replaced the batteries with new ones. When you turn the vibrator on high as well, it is all I can do to not break training and cum all over myself right there and then.

I don't know what to expect but am still extremely surprised when I hear you do the one thing I had not considered and just walk away, leaving the machines to torment my tissues on their own. I open my eyes wide and watch as you cross the room, picking up your novel from the table and settle down next to the window to read. Looking up from your book, you speak to me just one time.

"You will not move, you will not moan, and you will not cum until given permission, Slave. You will make no contractions and allow no physical responses that in any way move, dislodge or otherwise disturb your training devices".

With that, you turn your attention back to your book and appear to forget I exist.

I don't know how long I am there, on my knees and elbows, struggling my own internal war not to let my body win over my mind, not to allow the orgasms that repeatedly rise to the surface under the constant intense vibrations in, on and throughout my pussy. I try focusing on your reading but watching the pages turn seems to make the time much longer. I try focusing my attention on my own body, only to find the need to orgasm so intense I can't possibly hold out as you ordered if I do. Finally settling on paying attention to the exact pressures and textures of the mat beneath me, my knees beginning to ache, I lose myself in concentration.

I don't really know how I miss you leaving your seat and moving near me but the first swat with the wooden paddle brings fast tears of pain and surprise to my eyes. I jump with a start, only to be reprimanded for moving against orders and you begin rapid swats striking full length across both cheeks, one swat following the next. To my shock and horror at the complete loss of discipline again, I find myself helplessly in the throws of the most intense orgasm of my life and am soon screaming in rhythm with your blows, matching each sting blow to my cheeks with a shuddering roll of orgasm racking my entire body.

Just at the point I truly believe I will lose consciousness from the intensity of the prolonged orgasm, you put down the paddle. Kneeling behind me, you quickly bare your hard penis and in a quick stroke, remove the dildo and sheath yourself to the hip in my pussy in one sudden push. As you press into me and back out again, I scream out yet again in orgasmic ecstasy and with two thrusts, you are cumming with me, both screaming to the winds with the overpowering sensations rocking our bodies and forever melding our souls once again.

As the torrent subsides, you collapse on top of me and we both gently ease our exhausted bodies to the ground, you curling your body protectively around my back, your hand wrapped over and around me to cup my ample breast. Just as I begin to drift off to sleep in your arms, I stiffen slightly as you whisper in my ear.

"Slave, that was fabulous. Tomorrow will have to be soon enough to do something about that stolen orgasm."