Content warning: threat of serious injury, but only in a dream, and not fulfilled.
Giddy with the relief of finally submitting a story, I fell into a dreamless sleep. It took her two hard slaps to rouse me.
I awoke unable to move. She had stripped me and twined soft cotton webbing from my wrists to my ankles to my elbows to my thighs. I was lifting and spreading my own bent legs in the kinkiest of yoga poses.
I saw first an intricately worked brocade corset, then a pair of plump, creamy breasts, and finally her affectionate smile. My muse, my Mistress, my imaginary tormentress. She was kneeling between my spread legs, one hand on my shoulder for support and the other raised to slap me again. Seeing my eyes flutter open, she caressed my cheek instead. "Hi, little boy. Miss me?"
"Please don't hurt me," I blurted. "I submitted the story yesterday."
She laughed, putting one hand to her mouth in feigned chagrin. She wore opera-length latex gloves and even the sick dread coalescing in my stomach could not stop me from admiring their dark gleam. "No, of course not. Not tonight. We'll just have a little chat about your story. Recognize this place?"
I was no longer in my own bedroom. This bed was massive and circular, these sheets silken, those walls hung with tapestries. Through the window I saw a tall minaret.
I had no idea where she had taken me. It could be anywhere. It could have been conjured out of the depths of my over-active imagination, much like my Mistress herself.
"I submitted it yesterday!"
She planted her elbows on my shoulders and rested her chin on her hands. Her smile raised goosebumps on my skin. "And what did you do today?
Oh. Oh, no. "I fixed something." Editing a submission sent it to the back of the queue.
She shook her head sadly. "You couldn't keep your hands off it, could you?"
"I won't touch it again. Please, don't---"
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you have planned. Please, it's not necessary."
