Author's Note
As with all Mistress and Charlotte tales, this story contains elements of dominant-submissive role playing. It is safe, sane, and consensual, but if this type of thing offends you, please find something else to read.
The events and characters in this story are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All characters are of the age of eighteen and you should be too if you're reading this.
All text is copyright (c)2023 WaxPhilosophic
* * *
Prologue
Dear Friends,
If you've read any of our other stories on this site, you already know of my fondness of a nice rosy bottom, particularly when that hot, tingly pink takes the shape of Mistress's hand.
Most of the time it's not too hard to get Mistress in the mood to put me over her knee for a few good swats. Sometimes though, she gets distracted with life and needs a little motivation.
This is one of those times.
Peace and Love,
Charlotte
* * *
Miss Rosy Cheeks
Charlotte
The sunlight streaming through the east-facing bedroom window was what woke me up. I took a deep breath and stretched as I let it out. In all my groaning, I clenched and released my fingers, letting my hand flop onto the pillow beside me on the big king bed Mistress and I shared.
The back of my hand landed right on her cold, wet nose.
Not Mistress. Bella.
Bella opened one eye to give me an indignant look that only a sleeping boxer mix who's just been bopped on the nose can pull off.
"Sorry, girl," I said.
Bella snuffled and rolled over, kicking me once in the hip as she got herself resettled.
"Guess we're even, then."
I swung my legs over the side and pushed myself up to sitting. I rubbed Bella behind her ears to let her know there were no hard feelings about the kick. She let out a sigh.
"Where's Mistress?" I mumbled, getting to my feet and padding my way to the en suite. If Bella knew anything about it, she was keeping the details to herself. She was currently sprawled sideways, taking up three quarters of the bed.
I pushed the bathroom door shut, but didn't latch it, and reached for my toothbrush. I did a little half twirl as I brushed and cast a glance over my shoulder, focusing on my ass. With my free hand I cupped my left buttock and pulled upward.
I let my handful of ass drop and frowned as it jiggled, as much as one can frown in the midst of tooth brushing.
It wasn't an altogether unpleasant jiggle. I had inherited some pretty good genes and I thought my ass was still pretty fabulous. My frown wasn't anything to do with the jiggle. It was about the color. I touched my index finger to my skin and pulled as I look in the mirror. There was an appalling lack of pink.
This is the thought that stayed lodged in my brain as I finished up brushing.
"Mistress..." I said, and then remembering she wasn't in our bedroom, I moved to the toilet and sat down. With my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands, I finally dislodged my thought with a sigh and a mumble. "I think I've lost my rosy glow."
* * *
"Mistress?" I padded my way down the hall as her name left my lips, still wearing the same outfit I slept in--nothing.
Something was off. The house was too quiet. But it took me sniffing the air to realize what it was. No smell of coffee.
"Mistress?" I said again, making my way to the stairs.
"Down here, baby," she called out.
"Are you okay, Mistress?" I said, as my foot touched down on the floor and I turned toward the living room.
"Hmm?" she said, peering up over her reading glasses from the pages of book that was open in her lap.
I shifted my gaze from the look of confusion on her face to the mug perched on the end table next to her. "Maybe it's me," I said, focusing on the mug. "I think I've lost my sense of smell."
"Baby?"
"I can't smell your coffee, Mistress."
Mistress laughed. "It's tea," she said.
"Tea?" I took my lower lip between my teeth and held it there for a second while I tried to remember how many days it had been since Mistress started her morning without a cup of coffee. The number in my head was getting pretty big.
"Come here, baby." Mistress flipped the book upside down on her lap and held her arms open.
I plopped myself beside her. "The Sheltering Sky," I said, reading the cover.
"It starts out with a part entitled--"
"Tea in the Sahara," I finished for her, nodding. "I get it now."
"You've read it?"
"I was a Contemporary American Literature major," I said, as if that explained it all. Mistress smiled.
"It's also a song, by The Police," she said. "It took me this long to find out the two were connected."
"The ending's depressing as hell, Mistress. Just so you know."
"Well, the tea's refreshing at least," she said. "The kettle's still warm. Want me to make you some?"
"Um," I said, remembering my original reason for seeking her out this morning. My decidedly non-pink butt cheeks.
Mistress grinned. "I know, baby, I'm a coffee girl too. It's just one day."
"It's not that, Mistress..." I let my thought trail off, distracted as Bella came trotting down the stairs.
"You sure you don't want a cup?" Mistress asked as she moved her book to the side and stood up from the sofa.
"Nah," I said. "I'm good."
* * *
After letting Bella out back to take care of her morning business, I wandered back into the kitchen to find Mistress still fiddling with the tea ball.
At least she had the good sense to use loose leaf
, I thought, and then stopped myself.
While Mistress was telling me about how the tea ball belonged to her grandmother and she was happy to finally be able to use it properly, I remembered why I was here.
