It had been almost two months since the divorce was final between you and your ex-wife Angie. God she had been a conniving woman, full of anger and jealousy. She was been so mad when her ex-husband (though the divorce hadn’t been final at the time) had hooked up with me. As I wait for you to get home, I’m thinking about the life you lead with her, and the child that you still share. Custody was split, but that was okay with you and I because, after all, every young couple likes to have fun. The kind of fun you can’t have with a seven year old lingering around. I love her loads, but sometimes, I’m glad she’s at mommy’s house for the night.
I’ve been looking at porn pictures all day long, and you know it. You’ve already promised me that I’ll be punished for being a bad girl. When you left work, you sent me an instant message to undress, light the bedroom candle, put on my collar and my blindfold, and chain myself to the leash at the end of the bed. With the leash connected at my neck, I can sit, but not stand. You said I had been very naughty; I’m not supposed to be turned out without your permission, and I’m really not allowed to play with myself either, but I told you about the two orgasms I had today using the vibrator. You weren’t pleased with me at all. As I sit there, leaning against the bed, my fingers go to the collars around my neck. I don’t always wear two, only when you tell me to. The first is a chain necklace, fastened at the back with a small Master lock. This is my symbol of pride, though I never tell anyone what it means. It never comes off, except when you allow it, and it symbolizes my submission to you. The second collar is a leather choker with a simple buckle and a d-ring in the front. The leash is hung here, and I don’t dare move or touch myself, because I know you will be even more displeased.
So I wait, for what seems like hours, though I know it will only take you thirty minutes to arrive at home. I sit very still, my heart racing, my pussy wet with anticipation. I can hear one of the cats yowling outside the bedroom door, but it does not seem nearly as loud as the silence beyond. I am waiting with baited breath for the sound of the front door, perfectly still to please my Master.
At last, after waiting forever, I hear the door in the front of the house open and close. Hurriedly, I re-arrange my position so that I am on my knees, my legs spread, with my head bowed to show my respect to you. One of the first things you told me when I became yours was that this was something I must do when I have been naughty. It shows you that your slave is doing just what you asked, and is ready to receive what may come to her. I sit, but you are obviously not in any hurry to punish me, because it is several minutes before you open the bedroom door and come in, closing it behind you quietly. You walk past me, though I cannot see you, and I hear you rustling around the bedroom. I remain silent, as I am supposed to, for a good slave does not speak unless told to.
“You were a very bad girl today.” You say to me now, coming to stand before me. I know you are there, because I can smell the cologne you wear. The one that always entices me to do such naughty things. You reach down, and pull me closer by the leash and I let out a little gasp. “Weren’t you?”
“Y…yes Master.” I reply, my face hot.
“I am pleased to see you listened enough to remain where I told you to.” You say now. “But unfortunately, you must be punished before you are rewarded.” You unclip the leash and insert your finger through the D-ring, pulling me up onto my knees. “Why am I still dressed?” You ask, and using my hands to feel, I stand to remove your shirt. I made the mistake once of staying on my feet, and learned well the lesson then. Now, knowing you do not allow me to stand unless you tell me to, I sink back to my knees to unfasten your belt and pull your pants and boxer shorts down to your ankles. You step out of them and kick them aside. “I want you to taste me.”
“Yes Master.” I say, using my shaking fingers to grab your cock and lean forward to pull it in with my lips. You give a moan of pleasure and I feel happy that I am pleasing you. I move back and forth smoothly, keeping my teeth away from your tender penis (another hard lesson learned). You entangle your fingers in my hair and push me faster. At first, I think you’re going to make me swallow your cum, something I hate doing because I nearly always choke on it. But, just as you are about to climax, you push me away and I give an involuntary shudder. I drop my face again, waiting for your next command.
“Get on the bed.” You say. There is no tenderness in your voice now. I know the time has come to take my punishment, and I hesitate. “Now.” I can put it off no longer. I crawl up onto the bed like you told me to. “Now, get down on your hands and knees.” You tell me. I do as you instruct, still unable to see, and still shaking; partially from my horny emotions, and partially from anticipation. There is no fear, though I know what is coming next. You run something along my spine and I shiver; you have taken our your leather flogger. This is one of your favorite ways to punish me because it makes me moan so loudly. I feel it coming just before it happens. In a strong blow, the first strike hits me and I moan loudly. You do not reply, but strike again. You never hit me too hard, just hard enough to get the point across. I’ve been a bad girl, and you’re teaching me a lesson. This is all part of the training, you say during these times, to perfect your slave.
I count the blows to twelve, and then I feel my arms weaken. Without meaning to, I move away. You stop immediately and I can feel your eyes on me.
“You moved. Did I tell you it was time to move?” You ask. I am still breathing heavily, but I manage to reply.
“N…no Master.” I say now.
“Well we’ll need to prevent that for the rest of your punishment, won’t we?” You ask. I nod in compliance, though I dread what this means. Before I can react, you handcuff my wrists to the bed-frame and tie me securely down. I cannot move, but rather than being afraid, I am so turned on I can’t focus on anything except the heat of the room and your presence.
“Please Master,” I beg, “I was a bad girl.”
