He tells me to stand in the corner and at that moment the moisture between my legs begins to flow. He knows this punishment is one I hate quite vehemently, but as usual His powerful voice commanding me runs straight through my body and right to my heated core. It always makes feel so childish; like I am a hyper kindergartener sent to the corner to calm myself, a naughty child caught with my hand in the cookie jar sent to think about the error of my ways. I know that I deserve it and so I move to follow His orders, looking to return to His good graces. I stand facing the wall- mere inches away from touching the solid barrier, my hands to my sides and my eyes staring straight ahead. I remain quiet and as still as I can, not willing to give Him any reason for more dissatisfaction. Staying immobile is always the worst part for me. I'm such an energetic person that even a few minutes of stillness weighs heavily on my mind. I long to shake or wiggle- something to break the monotony of staring straight ahead. He knows how hard this is for me- then again He seems to know all. I hope that He is at least proud of my effort. I can never manage staying this still for too long.
Though I can't see it to be certain, I am sure that He is sitting in His armchair with His paper open as He reads the latest news. But now I can feel His gaze on my bottom, the full roundness accentuated by the tight black skirt hugging my globes. I unconsciously shake my bum; drawing more of His attention as he scrutinizes my body, pooling more heat between my thighs. I start to fidget and wiggle- so much for holding out. I hear a shuffle of movement behind me and I'm sure a reprimand is coming my way. However, instead of a harsh tone reaching my ears, His smooth voice washes over me as He orders me to lift my skirt. I move automatically to comply, bunching the fabric around my waist as I feel His gaze rake over my ass. The next order is to remove my panties and an almost undetectable shiver runs through me at His words and tone. I hook my fingers onto the sides of the lacy material, slowly sliding them down my hips, bending over to follow the thin cloth to the floor. I step out of them and kick them to the side, straightening up and re-bunching my skirt. "Now the skirt," His voice wraps around me, so authoritative and consuming and I am lost. I reach behind me, unzipping the zipper and unclasping the clasp; I let it drop to the floor.