Sixty nine minutes ago, Katie, my live-in slave, got on her knees and asked for permission to go to the store and get a few things for breakfast tomorrow. With thoughts of the evening already drifting through my head, I allowed her one hour to go to the Whole Foods. Katie promised me that she'd be back, the market being less than a mile up the road (and only one traffic light if you take the back roads).
Katie knows the rules. If given permission to go somewhere, she's to go straight there and back. No stops, no detours. She's to be responsible: be back when told to be back. Go where she's been allowed to go. Get what she's supposed to get, and not what she's not. She has a cell (doesn't everyone?), which I expect her to answer when I call, or if by some freak of cell service she misses the call, to call back promptly. I also expect her to call if she's going to be as much as one second late. She knows all that. She's been my slave for three years now, and nothing has changed.
So when she comes in nine minutes late, having not answered my call nine minutes ago, she takes one glance at the disappointed, stern look on my face, and silently hangs her head. She sets the two bags on the table as quickly as she does quietly. I'd never punish Katie if there was something beyond her control that kept her from doing what she promised to do. And she knows that making some kind of excuse will just make me more disappointed in her. I expect her to be responsible for her actions, and when she misbehaves to face up to the consequences of her actions. If she had a real excuse (the last one was when she got a ticket and the officer wouldn't let her use her phone) she'd say so now. Instead she just hangs her head. After a moment, she turns her back to me and puts her hands behind her.
I cuff her hands. While bondage is a mainstay, the handcuffs are not. I use rope, ties and other things for play. The cold steel cuffs are reserved for discipline. Another reminder to Katie that she's displeased me.
Once she's cuffed, I take hold of her collar by the little lock that keeps her from removing it. She wears it almost always. Only I may remove it, and I have the only key to the lock. Holding the lock, I lead her over to a chair. Pulling it out, I sit down, and unzip her jeans. She's soon over my lap, with me pulling her pants down until the waistband is around the tops of her thighs, every last speck of her bottom bare.
I brought my small paddle. It's somewhere around the size of a huge hairbrush, all wooden. I don't have to say a word: Katie knows what she's done to displease me. I start slowly, paddling her bare cheeks firmly. I don't count the strokes. Not for this. I just keep paddling her bottom until I have both of her cheeks an angry medium bright shade of pink. Until I know they're stinging her badly, but not too badly. I want her to feel the sting, for it to make her feel the pain of my disappointment.
Once I'm satisfied with the pinkness of her cheeks, I lift her back off my knees, setting her on her knees. I nudge her chin up, making her look up at me with her moist eyes. She knows that wasn't her punishment. That was more... just to ensure she knew how disappointed I was. "Put those groceries away, and get in your corner." I tell her.
"Yes, Master." Katie says. She stays where she is while I reach down and free her hands, at least for now. Then she rises up and hurries to get the groceries put away as fast as she can. She doesn't touch her pants. Not even as they creep downwards toward her ankles. That's another rule, if I put her clothes a certain way, she may not touch them. So she shuffles around the kitchen with her pants around her ankles. Once she has everything put up, she goes straight to a corner in the living room. She puts herself in it, standing up straight, eyes forward, hands at her sides and feet together. Her toes are the only part of her to touch the wall. She stands there quietly, patiently waiting until it's convenient for me to deal with her.
I have some things to do, so I leave her stand there for about twenty minutes while I answer my email and putter around a bit. But I do peek in often, first to make sure that she hurried to her corner, and later to make sure she stayed there. Obediently. Patiently. When I'm good and ready to deal with her, I call her over to me.
She comes quickly, dropping down to her knees, putting her hands behind her, and looking up at me. Then she stays quiet.
"You've been a bad girl, slave." I unzip my pants and pull my cock out. "Suck it." No sense starting this while I'm "eager." I prefer to take my time disciplining Katie. To make sure she learns her lesson well.
She immediately opens wide and swallows my cock. She leaves her hands where they are, long since having learned that I don't want her using them. I want her to suck it. If I wanted her hands I would have said so. She sucks leisurely as I expect. I don't like it to feel rushed. If I'm going to have her do it, then I figure I'm entitled to enjoy it to it's fullest. It takes me almost ten minutes, a long time. I know by then her jaw is aching from having to stay wide open so long. She doesn't show it. I cum in her mouth, and she swallows it. As I've taught her I expect, she sucks every last drop of it, then licks me perfectly clean. When she's done, I know I won't find a drop of sticky cum left on me. She knows better.
I clip a leash to her collar. "Come." I walk towards the play room downstairs. Katie hops to her feet and shuffles fast to keep pace with me. Hands behind her the entire way.
The play room used to be two bedrooms. Long ago I took out the wall dividing them and made it one big room, with plenty of room for my toys. Katie follows me in. I lead her to one of my favorite stands, which I call the table. It looks like a small table, cozy for two, rectangular, with a leaf missing in the middle to leave an open space (except for the two rails). She's been on this stand any number of times before, so when I put her up to it, she goes ahead and spreads her feet wide putting her feet outside with the legs at her arches. I pull straps around her ankles, binding them to the table. I push her forward until her stomach is lying on the table, her smallish breasts hanging freely down where the missing leaf would be. I cuff her hands behind her head, slipping the chain of the cuffs under her collar. Another strap goes over her back, just under her arms, then under the rails and back to fasten over her spine; it holds her firmly down. Finally I gag her with a favorite of mine, a ball gag with a dog bone through the center of the ball; this lets her know it's going to be an especially rough night for her. She knows me well enough to know I wouldn't bother to gag her unless I knew she was going to get noisier than I care for.
I love her in this position. Even with her bottom showing her 36 years, I can see every bit of my petite slave. From her hanging breasts, to her exposed butt hole, to her smooth pussy lips and the dense fur beyond. Plus I can do whatever I wish, and she can't do anything but lie over the table and take it. Just the way I like her.
I start with a wooden ruler. After a long series of uncounted strokes it has her bottom bright pink and stinging her nicely again. I'll keep her bottom stinging throughout her punishment. Once her bottom is fiery, I open her pussy lips and get an eyeful of her wetness, her almost clear honey thin but clinging to every bit of her pinkness. Her swollen clit, visibly pulsing with her heartbeat. Not much question how excited this slave is this evening.
I pinch her clit between my thumb and forefinger, and slowly roll it back and forth, watching her body react. In seconds she's purring lightly. I tease it slowly, letting her arousal build gradually to the point just before she's going to cum whether I want her to or not. She knows that I expect her not to climax with out being given permission, and when she's in trouble, she knows better than to ask for anything. But her body never behaves. She has about a thousand "tells" that let me see how close to climax she is. The one I'm looking for now is where her pussy lips cover with goose flesh. When that happens, I have about thirty seconds before she starts her little climax. So when I see it, I stop and take my hand away.
Before she realizes what's happening, I have the ruler back in my hand, taking my time, swatting her nicely offered bottom bringing back the brightness to it's rose glow and letting her feel the stinging anew. Again, I don't bother to count they strokes, instead spanking her until her bottom is the perfect shade of fire.
I use a small surgical spreader, like a pair of scissors, with flat blades, pressing it into her asshole, and stretching it wide open. This I know she doesn't especially care for. She gives me a nice grunt when it goes in, and a little whimper when I open her. I use a feather, tickling around the inside rim of her hole, then a little farther up inside her. This she hates, with a capital H. Not because it hurts, but because it drives her wildly insane but offers her no hope of release. From the first feathery touch, she tries to wiggle her hips, shivering hard and moaning muted "MM!s" into her gag. Eventually, after maybe fifteen minutes or more, I get bored toying with her butt, so I stop and take the spreader away.
And the ruler comes back. Another round of spankings, the number uncounted but obviously growing less with every set, returning her bottom to the proper shade of angry pink and intense sting.
I open her pussy lips again. And now I amuse myself by tickling around her pinkness, and into her pussy with a clean feather. Watching her squirm and shiver with it's every touch. Listening as the gag mutes her desperate pleading moans to pathetic little murmurs. Watching her pussy get wetter by the second. Until finally I see the goose flesh cover her puffy lips again.