(This is the fourth in a series of vignettes about a D/s couple's long-distance relationship and how it evolves over the course of a year. It would be helpful, but not necessary, to read them in order.)
"Paying attention to the little things is important, slut. Consider this a warning."
She was driving home from work, thinking about Sir's earlier text. She was of two minds about it. Part of her -- the part that still had her head in her everyday world, the job where she had a position of authority -- felt irritated. What the hell? He was the one who had told her that this was for fun, that she took things too seriously. And now -- this? She frowned and pushed her foot down on the gas pedal, accelerating a little faster than she should onto the freeway.
On the other hand, her apparently hardwired submissive brain was busy cataloging her missteps and oversights. He hadn't given her that many rules, although a few more had been added as their dynamic progressed. And she was usually very good about obeying them. A good girl to the core. But if pressed, she couldn't deny that recently there had been a little falling off.
They hadn't been together physically in over a month. In the time between, due to their schedules, communication during the week was often reduced to texts and emails. Not ideal, she thought wryly. She needed to see his face, hear his voice, to keep that connection strong, keep the leash firmly in his hand.
She pursed her lips. So, what were the little things she'd been lax about? Well...there was the day she had forgotten to take her pants off and keep her remote vibrator handy while she worked from home, one of Sir's rules. He occasionally liked to surprise her with some remote play. Mmm, those were fun days. But on that day, she'd forgotten the rule, had put on her jeans. And when he checked in with her later in the day, she'd told him. He was annoyed but she got off with a warning...and his refusal to play with her. Which she had regretted intensely.
Also, she had fallen behind on publishing the stories that she wrote for an erotic fiction website, loosely based on their encounters. Sir had nudged her several times about it. She excused herself, knowing it wasn't a strict rule she was violating. She really had been busy lately. But it was clearly his wish, and it niggled at her conscience that she hadn't done it.
Then there was the time she hadn't sent him the picture he required daily: posed submissively, wearing only her underwear. It had been a Sunday, and she'd felt like lazing about, which she had brazenly said in her email with her usual report and daily schedule. He'd given her a verbal check, and when she jokingly mentioned punishment, had asked whether she thought she deserved it.
The question had thrown her off stride. She was new to the world of Dom/sub relationships. Shouldn't it be up to him to decide if and when she was due a punishment? Several times when they'd been together, he'd punished her for small things. Nothing too significant...but he certainly hadn't asked her opinion about it.
And now, a cryptic text. This evening they were scheduled to talk and perhaps...she hoped...play on webcam. Something she'd been looking forward to. So then, why had she agreed to put in a quick appearance at a colleague's after-work birthday party before heading home? It's not like she hadn't let Sir know -- she'd texted him promptly to tell him she might be running late. She wasn't sure how long she'd stay, and traffic was, as always, unpredictable.
His reply, such as it was, had a somewhat ominous tone. Like the edge of a keenly sharpened axe, it split her neatly into two halves. One argued that it was just a reminder. The other was quaking in her boots.
She shook her head, feeling a little bewildered as her two sides clashed. Why had she said she'd drop by this party? The woman wasn't even part of the group she considered her work friends. And hadn't she just admitted how much she wanted -- needed -- to connect with Sir? She just didn't like turning anyone down.
No, that was a cop-out. She felt a tightening at the back of her neck, just where Sir would squeeze her to restrain her or guide her position. It wouldn't have given her a single qualm to say no. But she was here now -- already in the parking lot -- so she might as well go in and stay, just for a few minutes.
She didn't enjoy it. Her mind continued to needle her, piling on the guilt. She had asked him for more control a few months ago, but he had only recently begun to grant her request. She'd felt so pleased that he thought she was ready. She wanted that control, loved it, felt a kind of contentment that was almost addictive after doing something for him. And when he praised her, she felt like it was her birthday.
After only a few minutes, once "Happy Birthday" had been sung and she'd wished the honoree well, she tried to extricate herself. If she left promptly, she could still be on time. She nearly snapped at a friend who urged her to stay for a slice of cake.
But of course, she had tempted fate, waited too long. Rush hour traffic was in full spate. She'd never make it. She sighed and used her hands-free set-up to text Sir. She was basically at a standstill on the freeway, and no one was moving ahead of her. By now she felt a little shaky. Her feeling of apprehension escalated as minutes ticked by and she didn't receive any reply.
Feverishly she thought of all the things she had done. Tasks completed, photos sent, stories written. That counted for something, right?
Not in this world, her inner submissive voice answered. In this world, obedience was expected. Leniency might occasionally be given, but it couldn't be requested. It was Sir's prerogative.
She squirmed in her seat as guilt permeated her. She tried to think logically, but she was too anxious. There was something...some thought...if she could just catch hold of it. Instead, she veered from heaping blame on herself to wondering abjectly if Sir even cared or noticed, since he hadn't responded.
Finally, she heard the tone alerting her to his texts. The screen read only, "Text me once you are home." It didn't do a thing to relieve her anxiety.
She put on some calming music to quiet her noisy thoughts. It helped; her breathing slowed down and she could think again. Damn it, why was this happening now, when he was going to be visiting her this weekend? Tonight's chat was to finalize their plans. Was he going to be angry with her when they were together? Would he be so annoyed that he'd cancel altogether? She almost sobbed in frustration, feeling terrible about what she'd carelessly done.
Suddenly things clicked and she understood why Sir had asked her, on that previous occasion, if she thought she deserved a punishment. It was something she'd heard about from other submissives, but it was the first time she had experienced it. That feeling...that need for punishment, because punishment led to forgiveness. It cleaned the slate between dom and submissive. She got it, in a visceral way; got why a submissive would ask for a punishment, and why a dom would assess the need for one. Not just to instill obedience, but to...to.... She couldn't quite complete the thought.
Just then, traffic started to move. She reminded herself to stay cool and drive safely, even though she wanted to race home. What was done was done. And she had a request to formulate.
Once at her condo, she headed to her laptop. She'd had time enough to compose her email to Sir during the remainder of her drive. In it, she enumerated her offenses and requested his punishment. When she hit Send, her shoulders slumped in relief. She didn't even wonder why she immediately felt better.
His response was swift. "I'm pleased you recognize the need for punishment, little one," his email said. "You've been testing me. Testing our relationship. It's not unusual in a new dynamic and we'll deal with that when I arrive. Until then, you may touch yourself, but you do not have permission to come. Failure to obey me in this will make your punishment far worse."
The flood of relief she felt when he confirmed that he was still planning to visit was checked in rapid succession by his order. She read it again, felt her thigh muscles tighten. Those few words immediately made her feel like his possession, tugged back into her rightful place.
She sucked in a breath and calculated -- today was Wednesday, and Sir wasn't scheduled to arrive until Saturday morning. And if she knew Sir, he wouldn't be content to leave her to her own devices for the next few days. No, he would make those days difficult.
In bed that night she tossed and turned. Between wondering how he would punish her and thinking about what he'd commanded, she was a sleepless mess. She imagined herself at his feet, a desperate needy thing -- not needy for her own pleasure but to serve him, make him come. It was a primal urge, one that must be hardwired from some long-ago biological imperative. Maybe it stemmed from her sense of guilt, but she felt if she could service him, it would lessen her own need.
Not sure if it was a good idea but unable to resist, she retrieved the dildo from her nightstand drawer and rubbed it over her face, while imagining Sir watching. After licking it thoroughly, she moaned, begging, but in her mind there was no response from him. Because she already had his answer: "Do not come."
Feeling somewhat daring, she turned onto her stomach. Placing the dildo between her legs, she did a slow writhe back and forth on it, gliding it over her panties several times. But she didn't take it all the way to an edge. She was afraid that she wouldn't stop, the feeling too intense, the pleasure too close to deny.
First thing the next morning, when she sent Sir her daily photo, she included a heartfelt request -- asking him whether, when she edged that evening, he would allow her to imagine him using her mouth while she did, letting her service him until he came.
In truth, his upcoming visit, her denial, the idea of being punished -- it was all combining to make her feel wonderfully subservient. It was a feeling that returned at odd times during her busy day, making her eyes go slightly out of focus and her lips curve in a secret smile.
That feeling only increased at lunchtime, when she was finally able to check her phone for messages. There was one from Sir, granting her request but setting some conditions of his own:
Yes, you may beg me to fuck your mouth this evening. On webcam. When you get home, strip except for your panties. Eat dinner, do whatever you need to do, but be ready by 8:00 pm. Put your laptop on your coffee table and sit in that armless chair facing it. Spread your legs wide and place one hand inside your panties, one finger resting on your clit. Don't move it. Wait just like that.
Oh...god.... She felt a reflexive clench of her pussy as she read his words. And a moment later she realized that she'd need to retrieve the extra pair of panties she now kept in her desk -- hers were drenched.
The afternoon passed slowly. Her thoughts were preoccupied with her evening plans, making her forgetful and clumsy, so that she showed up ten minutes late for an important meeting, then knocked over her can of soda while she was trying to settle herself quietly at the table. She blushed, then spent most of the meeting wondering if her colleagues had noticed anything different about her.
