I stand nervous and shivering aware of the slight tremor of the sheer white Egyptian cotton gown which drapes my body. I can also see the fabric move with the beating of my heart. I wait for him to come, the anticipation making the seconds feel like minutes and the minutes like hours. He is not happy with me and has sent me to prepare for him. I have dressed as he instructed in this floor length nightgown and the white panties, which fit like another layer of skin. My feet are bare and my hair is gathered into a ponytail at the base of my skull. My face is makeupless, cleansed, toned and moisturized. I have laid out the ruler, paddle, and hairbrush as he also instructed, on a small table that sits to the right of the armless chair in the center of the open space of our large navy and light pink bedroom. I stand just to the right of this solid mahogany chair with its needlepoint covered seat, quivering, waiting, thinking, dreading, and yes, I admit, also anticipating his arrival and what will come. I always anticipate his warmth and nearness, his hands on my body, his touch.
I hold my breath when I hear the first sounds of his footsteps at the bottom of the oak stairway, listening to him move ever closer. The dull rhythmic sound of him drawing nearer with each step prods my heart to quicken. When the door opens and he comes into view my breath sucks in, in a rush, and I suddenly remember to breathe. I see how rigidly he holds himself. He is so very tall, his shoulders broad, his body trim, fit, and so strong. I prefer a smile to this stern determined look he wears which furrows his usually smooth straight brow. I wish I could muster the courage to look and find βhimβ deep inside those marvelous violet eyes, but the hawk like countenance makes it impossible for me to be so bold. My chin drops as my line of vision falls to the navy carpeting at my feet. My breathing deepens. My stomach muscles tense and I feel a twinge deep and low in my abdomen.
My peripheral vision catches his cat like movements as he comes to sit in the chair, adjusts his weight and makes himself comfortable. The pointed index finger of his right hand comes to catch under my chin and lifts to bring my eyes to his. I have to fight not to close my eyes....standing with eyes locked on his I let him peer deeply into me. I feel my eyes sting with the salt of gathering tears and my breath catches in my throat. I feel the almost imperceptible shaking of his head like a hand wrapping my heart and squeezing gently as lone butterfly flits, careening around my insides. He commands with a quick movement of his head and eyes the desire for me to lie across his muscular thighs as he directs, "raise the front of your gown just below your breasts before you bend over my lap. Now!" His tone leaves me no options as I lift my nightie, gathering the fabric quickly in my hands and move to lower myself over his sharply creased khakis.