After an hour or so, the floor was bleeping hard on my knees. It hurt like bleep. Bleep. That was the word I'd use, at least in my mind, instead of all those other words I wasn't allowed to say, or even think. Those words, off-limits to me, were why I was here in the first place, kneeling on the bleep hardwood floor, hands folded behind my neck so that now my arms were aching, wondering when she would get here, but not really wanting her to get here, because then I'd really be in bleeping pain.
The light was blinding from the front window, even through the translucent curtain. The whole front room seemed to light up in the late afternoon sun. I hoped nobody from the sidewalk could see inside here. I didn't think it was possible from that angle, through that curtain, but if they could, they'd see me wearing only a very tight pair of jockey short style underwear, black, kneeling in the center of the room on the hardwood, legs spread wide, hands behind my neck, eyes on the ground.
I hadn't moved since she told me to get in position, over an hour ago, when I hung up the phone, and at this point, it was obvious that she was taking her sweet time getting here, making me wait. God, this was excruciating.
The waiting wasn't over yet though, as I'd watch the clock on the shelf, hands ticking, minute by minute, for over another half hour, legs aching, knees aching, arms dying from where I was holding them, impossible to be still. Finally the door opened, and she came inside, slammed the door closed, then walked right past me.
I could hear her rummaging around in the closet, then the garage. Besides the obvious one item she was getting, I wondered what else she was up to. Finally she returned, and I felt my stomach leap a little, butterflies battering my insides in straight up terror. She walked past me again, ignoring me, then sat down on the couch, dead center, right on the middle cushion. I could see her from the corner of my eye.
She was wearing the blue jeans she always wore, frayed at the bottom, and those brown boots, and of course one of her many black t-shirts. Tall and wiry, pale and freckled, her reddish brown hair hung slightly in her face. She pushed it back, then set some sort of board on her lap. A plain, square, wooden board, she arranged it where she wanted it, centered it over her long thin legs, then let her hands rest on it, drummed on it a bit with her fingers. Then I heard her voice.
"GET up and COME here!"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
Standing wasn't exactly easy, nor was walking. My whole body ached from holding that position for so long. Rebecca rolled her eyes at me as I limped over to her.
"LAY down, FACE down, over my lap." She smacked the board on her legs. "I want your penis RIGHT in the middle of this board, and NOWHERE else. I want NO chance it's going to touch any part of me. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
Already, I was terrified. She was mad. I'd been serving Rebecca for months, and I'd never seen her like this. Of course, I'd never given her any reason to punish me. I started to kneel on the couch beside her, literally shaking. Yes, Rebecca was tall, but she was smaller than me. She was twenty years old, just like I was. Nevertheless, she intimidated me. I was quite literally quivering in fear. I was about to lean over her lap, reluctantly, when she again spoke.
"Forgetting something?"
"I - I don't know, Miss Rebecca." I knelt upright, then stood beside the couch.
"Your undies, Chris. You haven't stripped yet. You need to be naked."
"I'm sorry, Miss Rebecca."
I could hear the little whine of fear in my voice. She didn't wait for me to obey. Rebecca simply grabbed the sides of my jockey shorts and ripped them down immediately, leaving them around my ankles. Feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly naked, I swallowed and breathed deeply as I stepped carefully out of them, leaving them on the hard floor. I climbed onto the end of the couch, facing Rebecca, feeling so very vulnerable.
She smacked the board again, hard, and I lowered myself as quickly as I could, along the couch, my penis and balls pressed very uncomfortably into the hard texture of the wooden board, its edges pressing painfully into my legs and stomach. This was weird. Not just weird - it was completely awkward and embarrassing. Even if no spanking at all were going to take place, this would be a sort of humiliating punishment.
My view: the fabric of the couch in extreme close-up. I felt so weird, but tried to block out what was happening, to just not think about it. Suddenly, I felt Rebecca grab one of my wrists, and wrench my arm behind my back, then the other, so that both of my arms were folded in the small of my back, hands gripping each other. Next sensation: Rebecca's grip on the back of my neck, firm, her left hand sliding up to the back of my head, closing tightly around a large clump of my hair, the beginning of pain as she pulled on it in her tightening grip. I took a deep breath through the couch fabric.
I felt my neck being turned, my head moved toward the room, so that my face was lying with its side on the couch, and I was looking toward the open room, the sunlight, the coffee table. Rebecca maintained her grip on my hair, and I squeezed my eyes closed, wondering what she had planned for me. Finally, I felt Rebecca's grip soften, and her hand slide down from the back of my head, but maintain a tight, noticeable grip on the back of my neck.
I tried to swallow. This was the sort of scenario I'd dreamed about, fantasized about before I'd ever submitted. That familiar, uneasy feeling in my stomach returned, that desire to be controlled. I was excited. But I was also scared. This was new, and I had no idea what it would be like. My penis responded to the situation of lying over Rebecca's lap, growing uncomfortably erect against the hard board.
It was only a few seconds later that I felt something else, not painful, but strange. Rebecca's right hand suddenly rested on my butt. On my right butt cheek, to be precise. I held my breath. I'd been waiting for a paddling. What was happening? My whole body rocked a little as Rebecca shifted on the couch, then her left hand slid up then back down on my neck, maintaining its grip. Meanwhile, her bare right hand just rested softly on my bare ass. It felt completely weird. She moved it slightly, and I flinched. Then she tightened it a little, and I could feel each fingertip gripping my flesh, then she relaxed. Finally, I exhaled.
This felt so - I didn't know how to describe it. Nothing was happening, but I felt almost - almost violated. Which seemed bizarre to say, as many times as Rebecca had seen me naked, and forced me to obey her, and to perform acts that were humiliating, just to demonstrate my submission. But this - maybe it was because, for the first time ever, I knew a punishment was coming - this was more. Her hand just felt wrong there, in some way I couldn't describe. I didn't like it, not at all.
I could feel a sliver of her inner forearm across my left butt cheek, and I could feel just a bit of the stringy leather of her bracelet, which was falling into my crack. And her hand. Her hand, still and flat, on my right buttock. Just waiting. I was breathing hard, and didn't know why. Every once in awhile she would grip my neck tighter than normal, then relax a little. Then wait a little more.
"Why did you say 'fuck,' Chris?"
"I don't know, Miss Rebecca."
SMACK!!!
Faster than I could think, her hand had lifted off my butt, and come back down on it, swift and hard. Yes, it hurt; It was still stinging, in fact. But it wasn't unbearable. Rebecca's hand immediately rested again on my right butt cheek, this time a little lower.
"Wrong answer. I'll ask again. Why did you say 'fuck,' Chris?"
"Well, Miss Rebecca, I...I..."
SMACK!!!
This one stung harder.
"Don't hesitate, Chris. Speak. Answer me, NOW!"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca. I was working, trying to finish all the chores you told me to do, and I accidentally spilled the mop bucket and got water everywhere, and I was frustrated, and then I said - I said that word, Miss Rebecca."
"You said 'fuck.'"
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
"Are you allowed to say 'fuck', Chris?
"No, Miss Rebecca."
"So even though you're not allowed to say 'fuck' you said 'fuck' anyway."
"Yes, Miss Rebecca."
Every time she said the word, she paused, and emphasized it.
"Did you call me as soon as you said it?"
"No, Miss Rebecca, I - "
SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!
Three in a row hurt worse.
"Why not?"
"I cleaned up the mess from the bucket first, then I called you right after, Miss Rebecca."
"Why did you do that?"
"I - I guess I..."
SMACK!!! SMACK!!!
"I guess I thought it was important to get the mess cleaned up first, Miss Rebecca."
SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! The cumulative effect was starting to seriously hurt now. Rebecca removed her hand, rubbed it on her knee, and put it back on my ass, where it felt weirder than ever.
"That's not your decision to make, Chris."
She took a deep breath, let it out slowly. SMACK!!! A pause. SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! A single spot on my right butt cheek was turning into a weltering sore, stinging in pain. Rebecca again removed her hand, rubbed it on her leg, then let it rest again on my butt.
As her hand rested again on my ass, I let out a little gasp, and heard my voice make the tiniest little squeak. Something was happening. My cock grew even harder against the board, and I almost moaned. The sensation of Rebecca's bare hand, back there, it still felt unnatural, but I was starting to be turned on by the idea of it. Whatever she had planned, I deserved it. This was a chance to submit.
"I can't tell you how disappointed I am, Chris." SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! "What SHOULD you have done?"
"I..." Trying to speak, I was surprised to hear my voice catch. "...I should have called you as soon as I said it, Miss Rebecca."
"As soon as you said 'fuck'. The very instant it left your mouth." SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!!
Rebecca took her hand from my butt, rubbed it on her knee, then crossed it over and rubbed it on my bare upper back, then stretched it. She again let it rest, briefly, on my bare butt. SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! SMACK!!! For the first time, I gasped just a little as the pain began to intensify sharply.
"Are you allowed to say 'fuck,' Chris?"
"No, Miss Rebecca."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm your slave, Miss Rebecca." As the words left my mouth, I felt myself blush, and my whole body chill, the statement both exciting and embarrassing.
"You're my slave. Do slaves say 'fuck'?" Still, she emphasized the word strongly, each and every time. Her voice was thick with condescension and sarcasm.
"No, Miss Rebecca."
"Are slaves -allowed- to fuck?"
