Knock. You know once is enough, I will let you in when it suits me. You deserve to wait in the cold like the kicked street mutt you are. The first time seeing your mistress in person. Anticipation always consumes you, such a hungry boy. In that sick little mind you go through the orders I emailed you making sure they are followed to the letter. Meticulously checking that you have presented yourself correctly; naked (as the day you were born), except for a chastity cage around that pathetic cock of yours, with a lovely cerulean ribbon tied in a bow at the top (Aw and you bought yourself a collar, how sweet). A gift, humbly given to me. You have turned yourself over to Mistress so she can play with and more importantly correct her needy, wayward little boy. It's cold waiting in that corridor, other guests pass you smirking at your pathetic naked form. You don't care though. You know the attention of the woman you so desperately crave will make up for the wait.
Stop pacing, I can hear your footsteps from the other side of the door. You know I am trying to relax! 20 endless minutes of making you stand out there all alone with your pathetic shrivelled dick. Craving me. Eventually, I call you in. You know that you deserve to wait every agonising second. I am not there for you to worship its understandable for you to be impatient. You open that door and enter the room with the gusto of a spaniel. Instinctively dropping to your knees and crawling. All ready to submit to me. I lounge in my chair on the other side of the room with my back to the door, my delicate feet perched on a poof (pun intended) with my glass of wine and a cigarette. I can feel your needy eyes staring at the back of my chair. Relaxed as I am I don't acknowledge you, yet you come scurrying over to your mistress. What a good little bitch you are. Don't let me catch you looking up at me, you know better than that. Head down. I sip my Chablis and I have another drag of my fag before acknowledging the one who has laid prostrate before me. Oof, that greedy snarl into the carpet as you catch a whiff of the coco mademoiselle on my neck. Pigs struggle out of the stye.
I click my fingers and you stare up at me from your place on the floor. Putting my glass down and dropping my satin robe, I know how you squirm at the delicate movement of the soft fabric. You take in my figure; my large titties, curvy waist, swaying hips and the pièce de resistance, an ass that could make Midas give away his money. All wrapped in tight, perfect black lace. Finally dressed as the Queen that I am. From your position on the floor you see the glistening between my legs. 'Bring me the paddle, now'. Obediently you rush to retrieve it, you don't even have to be told to deliver it to me in your pathetic mouth. Ha! The way those shorn balls flail as you grovel back towards my heels with that hungry pathetic look in your eyes, begging for your mistress's correction and attention. Such a loyal dog. Ready to be chastised. I snatch the paddle out of your mouth, you turn around to see your ass willingly presented. 'Count and you can thank me after each one'.
