She Waits, Part Three

*MATURE CONTENT WARNING, 18 AND OVER ONLY, PLEASE


She Waits, Part One

She Waits, Part Two

As soon as she says it, she knows she may have crossed a line, but, damn it, she tries so hard, and she just can’t help it. This D/s dynamic gives her peace and freedom like she’s never known, yet she still can’t stop that sassiness, that stubborn, tenacious fire that smolders within her. She tries to be mindful and serving, and, for the most part, she is. Every act of service and task that pleases him also pleases her; she is mindful of the love and care that goes into each. It’s purposeful, it’s a win/win.

She also complies with the rules, his expectations and directions, and sees the love that each conveys to her. Despite her easy compliance, sometimes the things she says startle her even as she hears them escape her own lips. Her behavior sometimes defies her own common sense, even as she follows through with it.

What she does know is this: she needs him to hear, to see, to acknowledge it when she crosses him. That’s what she’s always needed, for him to understand her mind, how she works, and to notice when she’s doing something that isn’t good for her. To make sure she never falls backward and be one step ahead. To care enough to hold her accountable and show her who’s in charge.

Most of all, she craves his acceptance of her imperfections and the mechanism to make things right when she does screw up. She spent too many years in her own head punishing herself and needs to lean on him now, to trust him to help her. This dynamic does just that, which is why she really doesn’t mean to test him, she knows how juvenile it looks, but she falls in love with him a little more each time he is one step ahead. Even if it means a spanking. Maybe more so when it does.

And she knows he doesn’t want it any other way; he needs her to never lose that ornery part of her.

“You’re ready, what?,” he says in a tone she knows is no longer playful. “I’m ready, Sir,” she replies, tentatively. Two more quick swats strike her ass, but this time, they are much harder. Again, she doesn’t dare move or make any noise. “I will decide when you are ready. You are mine, understand?,” he asks her in that same forceful tone. “Yes, Sir. I’m sorry, Sir,” as she feels the corners of her mouth begin to curl into a smile. This time, she smiles because she knows. She knows he is one step ahead. He always had been.

“The grocery list and shopping are your responsibility. You forgot my creamer last week and there was no punishment. This week, it was my razors and this is your punishment. I’m going to give you ten strikes with the crop. You will count, saying the number after I’ve swatted each cheek once. You will not move and you will not lose count. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

He delivers one swat to each cheek, harder than any before, and she can hear his weight shifting to his toes as he swings the crop.

“One.”

Another swat to each cheek.

“Two.”

Another.

“Three.”

By now, her ass is stinging. He is swatting the same exact spot each time and she would swear he’s doing it on purpose, he did say he was going to enjoy this. She can’t blame him, she knows she deserves it.

She counts, she quiets, and she focuses. Striking in sets, the swats keep coming. The sting burns, and it ignites. As she calms and simply breathes, her body is responding in a realm she never thought possible. She’s on fire. This mind-body connection to him is unbelievable. Intense. Spiritual, even.

“Ten,” she says after the last set.

“You did very well,” he says as he gently roams his fingertips over the pink, freshly marked skin of her ass.

The lotion is cool against her stinging flesh, his hand careful not to press too hard. He lies down next to her as he massages her with the lotion, his face resting on hers. The soft heat from his palm caressing the hyper-sensitivity of the welts is driving her mad, her yearning a hum in her center, radiating  outward, reaching for him.

“That’s my good girl,” he whispers, and her body comes alive with need. The spanking had her wet and wanting, and his caresses had only proved to amplify that, but these words, they do something to her she would never have understood before. They fuel a desire and pride in her she can’t quite articulate. When she hears them she knows she belongs to him. His words reach around her in a full body embrace; he possesses her. Forever.

Eyes closing, she feels his soft palm moving up her back, slowly tracing her spine. Grasping around the back of her neck for a moment, it slips into her hair, closing around a handful and he tugs, not so gently, pulling her head back toward him.

“I’m not finished with you yet,” is a low growl in her ear.

She’s certain she can feel the rhythm of her anticipation thrumming trough her veins. Deep and steady, her breathing plays a melody with her heartbeat.

As he rises from the bed, she smells the rope before she sees it, it’s earthy scent causing her skin to react to the mental images it conjures. She is already reeling from his words and now her body is pulsing, as warm as the skin on her ass.

Again, she waits.

She waits and she knows. She knows he has plans. God, she loves this man.

She is eager to do as he pleases.

~image found on Tumblr

8 thoughts on “She Waits, Part Three

  1. Pingback: She Waits, Part Four | Diary of a Married Woman

  2. Pingback: She Waits, Part Five | Diary of a Married Woman

  3. Pingback: She Waits, Part Six, Final | Diary of a Married Woman

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