You sit in the straight-backed, sturdy, hardwood chair wearing, as directed, a white blouse, knee length skirt, pretty, but not sexy underwear and heels, and, somewhat out of the ordinary, a garter belt and stockings. Your back is as straight as that of the chair, your hands are folded in your lap, your ankles crossed demurely, and you look absolutely straight ahead. The room is plain, stark white walls undecorated but for one small abstract painting and a long narrow mirror, but obviously carefully kept with a thick carpet without one speck of lint visible. To your left is an empty table of the same quality and construction as the chair. There is no clock so you have no idea how long you have been sitting. There is no visible means of observation but you are certain that you are being watched.
Just as the wait begins to make you truly nervous ("This is the correct office, right? He did say Wednesday the 14th at 2:00pm precisely, I'm sure of it."), you hear the door behind you open and footsteps on the plush carpet. In your peripheral vision, you see me walk to the table wearing a dark gray, obviously expensive and exquisitely tailored suit. I place a leather bag on the table and begin to remove items, setting the carefully down in a specific arrangement. I set the bag on the ground and walk behind you to close the door. Without moving your eyes you cannot see what is on the table and the temptation to look is great, but your desire to show your obedience is slightly greater.
"Hello, little one," your hear my soft tenor voice in your ear, slightly startled by my proximity. I begin to walk around you as I speak, purposefully, with confident strides and a definite direction.
"Having seen your pictures, I had hoped your appearance wouldn't affect me as strongly as it has. However, the camera cannot begin to do justice to your absolutely natural beauty." You fight back a smile.
"You have followed my directions precisely which was, of course expected. I am pleased, nonetheless." Your eyes want desperately to follow my movements as I circle you but you continue to look straight ahead at the blank wall before you.
"We have spoken online many times about our views on the roles of the Master and the slave. However, we haven't spoken specifically of my expectations of my slave." My voice fills the room without booming or echoing.
"I expect immediate and unfaltering obedience to every command and instruction. Direct and instant confirmation of each command and an outward display of your acquiescence to my will." You begin to notice your breathing quicken and your heart begin to beat with more force.
"That is, of course, if you find me worthy of your service." I have stopped directly in front of you, facing you. The instinct to look up into my face defeated only by your years of training and effort. After what seems like a full minute, but must have been less than a second, you realize I am waiting for a response.
"I do, Sir." Three short words have never taken so much effort to speak without your voice quaking.
"Thank you, little one." The smile is obvious in my voice.
You see me begin to remove my jacket as I move to the table. I fold it neatly and lay it to one side. I walk around behind you and stand, once again, directly in front of you, much closer this time. You see that I have rolled up one sleeve and am now rolling up the other, an attractive but not flashy gold watch on my left wrist. You can now see my clothing more closely: the pleated wool slacks with leather belt and simple gold buckle, a deep blue shirt, and a gold patterned tie.
Your reverie is broken when you feel my fingers under your chin. I left your face to look into mine. As your eyes meet mine, they open widely. The corners of my mouth turn up just enough to slightly soften my stern face. My thumb traces the line of your jaw and the curve of your lips as I hold your gaze, searching your eyes for the deep emotions and thought I know lie within them.
After a few moments, I speak.
"Are you ready to begin, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," you answer immediately.
I walk to the corner of the room and stand there, facing you not quite casually. You can see the top of my short boot on one leg as it crosses the other and rests, toe down, on the carpet. You know I am waiting for you to decide on your "outward display of your acquiescence to my will." I takes not a moment for you to know precisely what that means for you.
Still seated, you look down and remove your shoes, setting them next to the chair, absolutely in line. You then remove unbutton your blouse and remove it as you stand. You fold it neatly as you carry it to the corner. You unzip your skirt and place it just as carefully under the blouse. As you remove your bra and panties, you remember how much I love the garter and stockings and consider for a moment leaving them on but decide that complete nudity would be a better display of your submission. You walk the few steps back to the chair and, never having looked up once, kneel before it, facing it, knees apart, clasping your hands behind your head, rather than behind your back, because you feel it is a more flattering pose for your breasts.
You can almost feel my intense gaze upon every inch of your exposed body as I walk once around you then seat myself in the chair.
"Thank you, little one, for the gift of your service. I am very aware of its rarity and value and will treat it with the respect and significance which it deserves."
"I am going to spank you now, little one. Not as a punishment, for you certainly have done nothing wrong. And not as a show of my control over your. But because it is my desire. and. I know, little one, that it is your desire as well. Come, lay across my lap."
You move quickly to obey, feeling the soft wool of my slacks on your bare skin and grabbing onto the sturdy legs of the chair with your hands.
"You will count each stroke and, should I stop for more than five seconds, you will thank me for your spanking. Do you understand, little one?"
"Yes, Sir," you say, thankful, once you say it, that something has forced you to breathe again. You feel my soft, warm fingertips, ever so gently caressing your flesh, circling each cheek and tracing a line between them. Then suddenly, SMACK, the first blow lands squarely in the middle of your right side, stinging slightly but obviously a warm up.
"One," you say, immediately, anxious to please and also because the blow forced you to make a noise of some kind. A pause. One one thousand one, two one thousand, three one thousand. SMACK. The left cheek, stinging slightly more. "Two." Another pause. One one thousand, two. SMACK "Three." SMACK "Four." SMACK "Five." SMACK "Six." SMACK "Seven." The alternating slaps landing so quickly that your counting falls slightly behind, the force increasing with speed. Thankfully, another pause. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand. "Thank you for my spanking, Sir," you gasp out and fight to steady your breathing as the excitement builds in you with the force of a train. You are sure I must be able to feel your heart pounding, pounding, pounding against my leg. You close your eyes and focus, slowing your breathing and willing your heart to slow and calm, as you feel my hand gently rub your back, helping you to quiet your mind and your body.
"Very good, little one," I breathe into your ear. My hand leaves your back and you tense for the blow. which doesn't come. Did I sigh in disappointment or was it just a quick breath? You begin to panic and fight to control yourself again and relax. A few more seconds pass. The room, though comfortable warm when clothed, begins to chill your skin slightly. SMACK Where were you. yes. "Eight." Slight pause, not even a second. SMACK "Nine." This one directly on top of the last. SMACK "Ten." SMACK "Eleven." SMACK "Twelve." SMACK "Thirteen." Each one precisely in the same place on your left cheek, the stinging pain rising quickly, the sound nearly deafening in the small room. One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand, five one. SMACK "Fourteen." SMACK "Fifteen." SMACK "Sixteen." SMACK "Seventeen." SMACK "Eighteen." These all on one specific spot on your right cheek. One one thousand, as you count, two one thousand, you quickly compare, three one thousand, the number of strokes per side, four one thousand, would there be one more, five.
SMACK "Nineteen." Back to the left and slightly lower.
SMACK "Twenty ." Lower again.
SMACK "Twenty One." Lower still.
SMACK "Twenty Two." Slightly to the outside.
SMACK "Twenty Three." Higher now.
SMACK "Twenty Four." Again higher.
