It has been a long week and I am glad to reach the start of the weekend. Knowing I would be home a few hours earlier than you, you left me this morning with instructions about how to start my Friday evening. I stop at the supermarket on my way home, fetching everything needed to cook a simple, light meal. When I get home, I put the shopping away and then undress and begin running a bath, as instructed. I lie back in the bubbles until I feel the tension in my shoulders beginning to leave and the stresses of the week beginning to float away. Before the water cools down too much, I shave my legs and wash my hair, rinsing myself off in the shower. I step out and wrap myself in a large fluffy towel, enjoying the feeling of the soft towel on my smooth legs.
My next task is to pick out lingerie to wear. I settle on a black lacy bra that barely covers my breasts, a suspender belt, stockings and a pair of black lacy knickers over the top. Then I cover up with a dressing gown, knowing that I will need to remove it before you arrive home. I make sure that the blinds and curtains are closed throughout the house, not wanting to expose myself to the neighbours later on, and then do my hair and make up, wanting to look my best for you.
Shortly before you are due to arrive home, I make my final preparations before removing my dressing gown. I place my collar on the hall table, put on my blindfold and then kneel in the hallway, hands crossed behind my back and knees apart, just as you have taught me. And then I wait, allowing my mind to imagine and anticipate what you might have planned for me this evening.
I am so lost in my daydream that I am startled when I hear the front door being unlocked. I raise my head, forgetting that I can't see anything behind my blindfold, and listen. I hear the door open, a few footsteps and then the closing of the door. And then silence. I cannot see you standing in front of me, admiring my body and my obedience, appreciating the way my black lingerie contrasts with my pale skin. I remain still, but am becoming desperate to feel your touch.
Eventually, I hear some movement and guess from the sounds that you are taking off your shoes. I wait, but begin to shift a little in my position, betraying my slight anxiety when I cannot tell where you are or what you are doing. Suddenly I feel a gentle touch of your hand on my shoulder. I lean my head towards your arm, silently communicating my need for more contact, and am rewarded by feeling you stroke my head softly. But then your touch withdraws again. Another agonising minute passes and it grows harder to remain still. I want to tear off the blindfold and throw myself in your arms, but I know that my faithful obedience will mean even more to you than my impatient enthusiasm.
Your hands return, gently stroking over my shoulders and down my back. I lean slightly into each touch, feeling gentle tingles of pleasure and anticipation. Then I feel the softness of my collar at the front of my neck, before you gently move my hair out of the way to fasten it at the back. The collar reminds me that I am yours, your submissive, owned and cherished by you. "Good girl," you say, kissing my shoulder gently before you stand up. "You are a beautiful sight for me to come home to." Your words make me smile, glad that I have pleased you.
You tug on the leash attached to the front of the collar, gently pulling me up to a standing position before wrapping your arms around me and pulling my head towards yours, kissing me deeply. I respond to your kiss and my hands move from behind my back to wrap around your waist. Suddenly you pull back sharply.
"Did I give you permission to break your position?" you ask, your voice now firm and dominant.
"No, Sir," I reply, quickly moving my hands to return them behind my back.
"There will be a consequence for that later," you tell me.
Then you carry on kissing me, your tongue forcing its way into my mouth, claiming me as yours. I keep my hands behind my back, surrendering myself to you.
After a few moments, you pull off the blindfold, telling me that I can move out of position now. You pull me into you again, letting my head settle on your shoulder and allowing me to wrap my arms around your waist again. I relax into your embrace and you place a gentle kiss on the top of my head. I sigh softly, feeling secure and contented in your presence. Then you pull back slightly to gaze deep into my eyes before kissing me again.
You lead me into the kitchen, unclip the leash from my collar, place an apron over my head then turn me around. "We don't want anything splashing onto your exposed flesh, do we now?" you murmur in my ear. Your hands brush over my knickers and down my thighs before finding the strings of the apron. Then you use the strings to pull me sharply towards you, letting me feel the hard bulge in your trousers as it presses against my arse. I wriggle my arse gently, teasing your cock with it. One of your hands holds me in place by my stomach as the other delivers a sharp spank to my arse. I moan and push my arse back towards you, seeking out your cock again. You give me another few harder spanks, reminding me that you are the one who holds the control. This time, I remain still as you reach for the apron strings again, tying them tightly around my waist, smiling to yourself as you think about your plans to wrap your rope around my body later. Keeping me facing away from you, your hands stroke gently over my shoulders before reaching under the apron to grasp my breast in your hand and then pinch my nipple firmly through the lacy cup of my bra. I moan softly at the slight pain, but lean forward slightly, inviting you to continue. You chuckle at my obvious need before moving away and telling me to get started on cooking.
I start chopping vegetables while you put some music on, smiling as I begin to sing along softly. You help with the dinner preparation, enjoying watching my arse wiggle, framed by the suspender straps, stockings and apron tie, as I begin moving to the music. When dinner is ready, you remove the apron from me before pouring two glasses of red wine. I feel oddly exposed, sitting opposite you at the dining table in just my lingerie, while you are still fully dressed in your smart work clothes. My exposure serves to remind me that you have plenty more in store for me this evening and during our conversation my mind occasionally wanders off to imagine what you might be planning. At one point, you notice my attention drifting and bring me back to earth with a firm look of disapproval, causing me to blush and apologise. But I know that you will add this to your list of reasons to 'punish' me this evening.
After dinner, you lead me into the living room, pulling me to sit on the sofa beside you as you turn on the TV. I curl my legs up beside me and snuggle into your embrace as you reach in front of me to pull down each bra cup, leaving my breasts exposed but still supported and lifted by the underwiring of my bra. You put on the next episode of a TV series that we have been watching. As we watch, you occasionally reach up to play with my breasts, running your finger around them in decreasing circles that end with a pinch of my nipple, cupping and squeezing them in your hands or rolling my nipples between your finger and thumb. Each time you touch me, I feel myself growing wetter. My hand has been resting on your leg, but now slides upwards, searching out your cock. You pick up my hand and return it to your knee, telling me that we need to wait for our meal to digest before we do anything else. As you continue to play with my breasts and nipples, you feel me squirming beside you and pushing my breasts out towards you, eagerly inviting you to do more. And yet you retain control, containing your touch to just my breasts and ignoring my growing desperation, teasingly reminding me that we need time to digest dinner, and moving my hand back to your knee every time it strays.
When the episode ends, you turn off the TV and order me to lie across your lap. "You were very distracting while I was watching TV," you tell me. I consider arguing that you playing with my breasts the whole way through was more distracting, but I think better of it. You slide my knickers down over my arse, leaving them resting mid-thigh. Without warning, your firm hand comes down on my arse in a sharp smack, causing me to cry out in surprise. Your spanks build in intensity and by the ninth smack my hands involuntarily move from the small of my back to try to cover my arse, which already feels as if it is glowing. You use your free hand to hold my wrists in place and resume spanking me, hooking your leg over mine when I start to wriggle too much. Held firmly in place, I give in to my helplessness, letting the pain of each smack wash over me. I am almost disappointed when you stop, telling me to go to the bedroom, remove my bra and knickers, put the blindfold back on and wait for you.
I pick up the blindfold from the hall table then follow your instructions, settling back into my earlier position, kneeling on the rug facing the bedroom doorway, resting my buttocks on my feet with my knees apart and hands crossed behind my back, pushing my breasts out in front of me. I can hear you moving around in the kitchen and living room and I begin to grow impatient, desperate to feel your touch. Then you enter the bedroom, but still you do not touch me. I can hear you moving around the room, opening drawers and placing things on the dressing table, then closing the bedroom door, and my curiosity grows, wanting to see the things you are planning to use. But still you make me wait.
Finally I feel your hand stroking over my shoulders and across my chest. Your other hand reaches to the front of my collar, clipping the leash in place, symbolising your complete control over me. You gently remove the blindfold and use your hand to tilt my chin upwards to look at you.
"You're mine," you tell me, looking down at me with a hungry look in your eyes.
"Yes, Sir," I reply. "I'm yours." I gaze up at you in devotion, my blue eyes soft and submissive.
"Hands," you command simply. Remaining in my kneeling position, I move my hands from behind my back and stretch my arms out in front of me, palms up. You pick up the soft wrist cuffs from the dressing table and buckle one around each wrist before moving around me to pull my wrists behind my back and clip them together. You use your hand on my neck to pull me to a kneeling-up position, then adjust my posture slightly to push my breasts out further.
I watch you move over to the dressing table again, picking up a soft suede flogger. You trail the strands lightly over my stomach and breasts, watching my chest rise and fall as my breathing quickens in anticipation. Your first strokes are very gentle, but it is not long before you begin to increase the speed and power behind your blows, landing each one precisely on my breasts and nipples. Soon, I can feel the blood rushing to my breasts, turning them pink and increasing their sensitivity. My head is tilted back, eyes closed, breasts still pushed out, willingly surrendering myself to you.
"The last ten are going to be harder, as a consequence for being a bad girl earlier, moving out of your position without permission when I came home and being distracted during dinner," you warn me, trailing the strands of the flogger softly over my breasts as you speak, "Count them out loud."
