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The door to our room opens, and I'm aware that I'm almost hyperventilating, feeling so anxious and fearful. I wish I could turn and crawl across the room, throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. "Stand up and come over here to me, " you order, and I shiver at the cold tone of your voice. Slowly I rise, my knees shaking and walk carefully to stand before you, my eyes lowered. My hands are clenched into fists to stop the shaking, and I am quite sure that my face is very pale. "Strip," you order. With shaking fingers I undo the buttons on my blouse, sliding the silk off my arms. Spying the chair next to me, I fold the blouse carefully and lay it on the chair, and reach back to unzip my skirt, sliding it down over my hips and folding it as well. I step out of the black pumps and slip them under the chair. My mind recalls all the times I've stripped before you, often as a prelude to the exquisite lovemaking we share. How I wish I had handled things differently downstairs before! I gasp as pain sears across my thigh... when did you pick up that crop?... and in your cold tone you tell me to stop stalling. I remove my bra and panties as quickly as possible, and step again in front of you, nude. " I am going to punish you, " you inform me. I nod silently. There is always this verbal dance before a punishment, and sometimes I hate that the most, having to listen to your cold voice, having to say aloud my wrong doings and your insistence that I request to be punished. "Who am I? " you ask, walking around me slowly. "My Master," I reply softly, eyes still down. "And is it appropriate to call one's Master a "fucking asshole"?" you ask. My eyes fill with tears. You are so much more than just a Master: you are my lover, my partner, my best friend, the last person on earth I should be calling names. The crop strikes again, across my ass. " I believe I asked you a question," you comment. "No, Master, it was a very inappropriate remark to make, " I respond. Again, like downstairs, one of your hands grips my upper arm while the other hand grasps my hair tightly. You lead me into the bathroom, placing me before the sink. " I agree, " you inform me, " a highly inappropriate remark. " You reach for the liquid soap dispenser, and hold it before my face. "Open your mouth... I am feeling the need to wash that filthy mouth of yours" torture chamber The door to our room opens, and I'm aware that I'm almost hyperventilating, feeling so anxious and fearful. I wish I could turn and crawl across the room, throwing myself at your feet, begging for forgiveness. "Stand up and come over here to me, " you order, and I shiver at the cold tone of your voice. Slowly I rise, my knees shaking and walk carefully to stand before you, my eyes lowered. My hands are clenched into fists to stop the shaking, and I am quite sure that my face is very pale. "Strip," you order. With shaking fingers I undo the buttons on my blouse, sliding the silk off my arms. Spying the chair next to me, I fold the blouse carefully and lay it on the chair, and reach back to unzip my skirt, sliding it down over my hips and folding it as well. I step out of the black pumps and slip them under the chair. My mind recalls all the times I've stripped before you, often as a prelude to the exquisite lovemaking we share. How I wish I had handled things differently downstairs before! I gasp as pain sears across my thigh... when did you pick up that crop?... and in your cold tone you tell me to stop stalling. I remove my bra and panties as quickly as possible, and step again in front of you, nude. " I am going to punish you, " you inform me. I nod silently. There is always this verbal dance before a punishment, and sometimes I hate that the most, having to listen to your cold voice, having to say aloud my wrong doings and your insistence that I request to be punished. "Who am I? " you ask, walking around me slowly. "My Master," I reply softly, eyes still down. "And is it appropriate to call one's Master a "fucking asshole"?" you ask. My eyes fill with tears. You are so much more than just a Master: you are my lover, my partner, my best friend, the last person on earth I should be calling names. The crop strikes again, across my ass. " I believe I asked you a question," you comment. "No, Master, it was a very inappropriate remark to make, " I respond. Again, like downstairs, one of your hands grips my upper arm while the other hand grasps my hair tightly. You lead me into the bathroom, placing me before the sink. " I agree, " you inform me, " a highly inappropriate remark. " You reach for the liquid soap dispenser, and hold it before my face. "Open your mouth... I am feeling the need to wash that filthy mouth of yours"

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