She Waits, Part Six, Final


She Waits, Part One

She Waits, Part Two

She Waits, Part Three

She Waits, Part Four

She Waits, Part Five

Already, she’s trembling. Those few words have her body reacting, fueling her anticipation. He carries on, carefully rolling her onto her stomach, making sure her neck is comfortably to one side. Gently guiding the hair off of her face, the soft tip of his finger and the silky strands of her hair tickle her cheek, and now she feels his stare. She feels his eyes on her, bringing heat to her cheeks, not from embarrassment, but because she wants, so badly. She desires what is to come.

The blindfold ensures she can’t see, but he moves her hair out of the way simply because he wants to watch the expression on her face. Not being able to see strips away some of her inhibition and her expressions drive him crazy; they are raw and real and they reveal to him all the emotions and truths she doesn’t yet have the courage to express out loud. Her face, it tells him everything.

Her body’s unwavering responsiveness to him, along with her vulnerability – these are his sustenance; he thrives on them and they make him want her more than he ever imagined he could. She has given him a gift: herself. No more walls or barriers. Stripped of all that unnecessary armor and defense she uses with the rest of the world, she is bared, only to him. She is his and protecting her is necessary to him, but in order to nourish this profound connection they have, he knows he needs to push her, to test her boundaries. He knows he must be here to catch her when she’s pushed, to be her safe place. He’ll always be there for her.

“I’m going to help you get your legs under you again, Love, back into the same position in which you began,” he says as his hands travel across her back.

Only a moment ago, with a few simple words, he had her trembling – he was going to make her beg and the anticipation still has her stomach in knots. But now, his palms give her a taste of what is to come and her trembles turn to shuddering.

“Yes, Sir.”

“Are you cold, My Love?”

“No, Sir.”

He leans forward, off to the side she’s facing, and whispers with his lips so close that they lightly tickle her ear as they move.

“Relax, trust me, ” his breath hot on her ear and cheek, soothing her.

“I do, Sir.”

She breathes in, filling her lungs, exhales, and relaxes, calming. She couldn’t help him reposition herself if she wanted to; her arms are bound behind her back and her legs are bound thigh to calf.

Positioning himself behind her, he grips her knees, gliding them up beneath her. The silky softness of the sheets grazing her skin reminds her of his fingertips dancing in those same places just a bit ago. The tightness of the rope pulling and tugging against her flesh as he moves her legs reminds her she is under his complete control. It’s exactly where she wants to be.

As he sits behind her on the bed admiring her shapely, pink ass, her wetness glistening between her thighs, he remembers a time not long ago when she wouldn’t even talk to him about sex, not really. Now, here she lies before him, exposed, an offering of more than just body and flesh. For him, she offers herself completely, for his pleasure is her own.

Something had just clicked in them and between them that day they talked about all of this. Dominance and submission was still fairly new to them, yet, they never felt more at home. They’d never felt more like themselves; they belonged. It was the forever sort of belonging, the kind which inspired hope. And passion like they’d never known.

Totally exposed for him, she is irresistible. It is going to take all his strength not to take her right this instant. But he knows he needs to push her, to make her beg and plead and see just how far she can go and feel just how deeply she trusts him. He is going to take her to a raw place of need. He is going to take her there again and again and again. And he is going to love every minute of it.

Soft fingers begin to caress her ass as she lay in her position, waiting patiently. She’d say she hated the waiting, but that would be a lie, it was half the fun. Those fingers, warm and tingly on top of her stinging, pink ass, travel down to the back of her thighs, in between her legs to barely graze over her folds, almost a tickle on each side of that rope. Without even trying, her ass cheeks clench in anticipation of his movement, further.

“Be still, My Love.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Those fingers do not go any further, not yet. Abruptly, his palm lands a hard strike on her left cheek, then the right, then silence. Another set, then silence, and a hand lightly caresses the hand prints on her ass, in a circular motion.

This part, this is when she’s still. She always calms and savors each strike. She listens to the sound of his hand on her ass. She feels the sting and the soft touch that follows. And nothing else – her mind is free of all extraneous clutter.

As she inhales, he moves that rope to the side, strikes two more times on each cheek, then glides his fingers over her wetness, which is abundant by now, then circles and dips his two fingers inside her. Back arching as much as is possible, she gasps and moans as he massages her g-spot, beckoning forward with his fingertips over and over again.

His fingers never leave her. They circle and dip and massage as the other hand strikes one cheek then the other, in a rhythm. Strike, strike, massage, over and over until she is so close and asks, “Sir, may I please come for you.”

“Not yet, Love.”

Deliberately, he stops for a moment, simply massaging her cheeks. As his palm travels up her back, grasping onto her shoulder, he enters her swiftly. Soft kisses graze the flesh of her back as he holds her shoulders, pounding into her with ferocity. Hard and fast, he brings her close again.

“Sir, may I please come for you?”

“Not yet, Love.”

Slowing the pace, he allows her to calm a little. Then, he cups her hips in his hands, squeezing and sinking his fingers into her flesh as he circles his hips, his cock stroking and probing all the perfect spots, coaxing her to a pinnacle, yet again. He doesn’t wait for her to ask, this time.

“Do not come, Love. You will not come until I allow it, understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she says with a small, shaky voice, trying so hard to focus. She wants nothing more than to please him. To make him proud. She will NOT come. But, he does not stop this time. He keeps moving his hips, teasing and prodding. Clenching her innermost muscles as hard as she can, she breathes in and out, and repeats to herself, ‘Do not come,’ over and over again.

Just when she thinks she can’t take another stroke, he pulls out. She exhales so loudly, she giggles a little, her relief out in the open.

“I’m not finished just yet, Love.”

As soon as that last word passes his lips, his breath is hot against her wetness, causing her to shiver and shake. God, she wants to feel his lips and tongue on her, yet she knows she’ll want to come hard and fast. She is so primed already.

His tongue traces her on the outside, just the tip, up and down. Dipping into her crease, that rigid tip slides down, finding her nub to flick, up and down, back and forth. She tries to lean into him, but she cannot, the rope is too tight.

“Please, Sir. Please may I come for you?”

“Not yet, Love. You hold on. You’re doing so well.”

His tongue goes flat, lapping at her, dipping into her opening, circling and teasing, getting her close, then slowing a little. Getting her close, then slowing a little. As he speeds up again, his thumb begins to rub in circles around her ass and now she’s at a place she can almost not take anymore. She wants so badly to come. No, she wants to explode.

As his tongue begins its rapid assault on her clit again, that thumb plunges into her hole and she has no choice. She clenches her walls as hard as she can, pleading, “Sir, please, oh please may I come for you? Please? Please? PLEASE?”

“To whom do you belong, Love?”

“I belong to you, Sir! Please? Please? PLEASE?”

“Yes, come for me.”

And, she explodes. Her body convulses, the orgasm gripping her from the inside out. Heat pulsing from her center through to all her limbs, wetness dripping onto the clean, gray sheets. All she can do is ride and ride the waves of pleasure. She knows there is sound escaping her lips, but she cannot even tell if she is forming words.

He simply sits back on his heels and admires. What a feeling it is to know that he does this to her. It is he alone that is capable of bringing her this much pleasure. It is pure power coursing through his veins. He can’t get enough. And he still isn’t finished.

Just as her orgasm begins to slightly dissipate, he enters her, harsh and quick, reaching up to tangle one fist in her hair. He pulls, not so gently, arching her neck toward his face, grasping her chin in the other hand. Prickly on her cheek, his whiskers scratch as he speaks to her.

“I’m going to fuck you now. Tell me you want it. Beg for it.”

“I want you to fuck me, Sir. Please, fuck me, please! Please, please!”

With those last words, he wraps his arms around her abdomen, tucking his fingers into the rope, using it to hold onto and he fucks into her. He closes his eyes, coiling all his strength and power and love into each and every thrust. He kisses and bites her back. He moans and grunts and consumes her.

When he feels her getting close again, he drags his whiskers up her back, pulls her hair back so her cheek is flush with his again and says, “You’re my Good Girl. Come with me.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Her voice is barely audible. Her mind has gone to a place of need she never knew existed. It’s a floating, dreamy place where her mind is flying, yet her body is moving involuntarily. It moves in absolute response to him. Her senses are so heightened and her entire body is so in-tune with him, it simply follows. It obeys. Even just his words.

His last thrust is long and deep, reaching the end of her, spilling himself into her as her walls squeeze and pulse and draw every drop from him. There are no words, only the sounds of their bodies clashing together and the sounds of their voices singing release.

He kisses and embraces her, telling her he loves her as he begins the untying of the rope. His arms bear her weight, bracing her and pulling her in to lean on him. Her body trembles and shivers, the pleasure leaving in small aftershocks.

“I’ve got you, Love. Shhhh. I’ve got you.”

He sits her back into him, resting her on a towel and has her sip some water. He gently rubs all the imprints, the places where the rope has kissed her skin.

“I love you. I’ve got you.”

She rests her body, completely. She molds herself to him. Again, she feels the beating of his heart against her back, her rhythm matching his. She wonders if it’s even possible to understand where he ends and she begins.

“I’ve got you.”

And she knows he means it. He has her, all of her. She belongs to him.

With all her heart, she believes it; they were worth the wait.

-image credit Tumblr

She Waits, Part Five


She Waits, Part One

She Waits, Part Two

She Waits, Part Three

She Waits, Part Four

As she remains in the kneeling position, the ample curve of her ass rests on her heels, her body leaning back against his chest. She could swear she is able to feel the current of blood flowing just beneath his flesh and wonders if it might be passing through her, too. Her heart beats a rhythm matching his, her breath, in and out, mirrors his, her thoughts are on only him and how he makes her feel. The very essence of her is tethered to him, and it’s so alive.

His sturdy frame grounds her as it holds her upright, his subtle movements her focus, keeping her in the moment. Her body has been fine-tuned to respond to him, their connection making it possible, and it aches relentlessly for him. Reaching down, deftly aware of her hunger, he glides the backs of his fingers along her rib cage, crossing her stomach and stopping just below her navel. The warmth and softness of his fingers paired with the firmness of his nails passing over her skin, up and over the ridges of rope, ever so slightly pushing its roughness against her, is so heavenly. Trying her best to keep from giving away just how turned on she is, she locks her jaw into his in the nape of her neck, leaning her cheek onto his and slowly exhales as she anticipates the direction in which he’s moving. 

Just as the last bit of air leaves her lungs, he reaches down and gives the knot in the rope covering her clit a gentle, upward tug, keeping the tension tight. Bucking upward toward the tightness, her hips rise off her heels. A sharp gasp fills the air, muffled by the clenching of teeth, and she realizes, as the goosebumps form upon her skin, that it has escaped her own lips. 

Instinctively, she reaches up with both arms to grasp around his neck, turning her head just enough to meet his lips. Enclosing over hers instantly, his mouth is warm and wet, their tongues and lips intertwined, the need passing between them. Groaning softly into her mouth, he tugs and slides the rope side to side, the tension tight against her, teasing and building and priming. With his other hand, he reaches up and grabs her chin, pulling her mouth from his.

Resting his forehead upon her own, he sternly says, “I told you to be still, My Love. That wasn’t a request. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’ll be punished for not following my instructions. Again.”

“Yes, Sir. I can’t wait….Sir.”

“Such a smart mouth you have, My Love. It’s going to get you into trouble, too,” he says through a coy grin that he knows she can’t see.

This time, her lips purse, trying to stifle the grin she knows is coming. As she does, she is surprised when she feels him reach for her arms. She had thought he was finished with the tie, but he is not. Around and around her arms near her wrists, the rope winds in a basic pattern, then up through the middle and around the existing rope, almost like a bow. He repeats the same above her elbows, and now her arms are immobile behind her back.

“I’m going to lie you on your back now, Love. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir.”

As he lays her gently onto her back, he pushes her legs up so her ankles meet the backs of her thighs. Again, he repeats the same simple tie on her legs, fastening her in that position. His fingers linger and smooth and position the rope just so, and she knows he is teasing her on purpose, reminding her who is in charge. God, she loves his reminders.

Leaning in between her legs, arms on either side of her upper body, he barely brushes the growing part of himself against her, giving her only the slightest taste of how much he is enjoying himself. Leaning in a little further, he almost kisses her. His tongue grazes her lips, but does not enter. His breath is hot on her mouth, his own lips threatening to engulf her, but they do not. Just the faintest of kisses touches her lips, leaving her wanting for more, so much more.

He leans down again and just when she thinks he’s going to kiss her, really kiss her, with his irresistibly commanding voice, he whispers in her ear.

“Now, My Love, I’m going to make you beg. You’ll beg for more. You’ll beg me to stop. There’s no doubt you’ll be begging, but only when I allow it. Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replies, already beginning to tremble.

-image credit Tumblr, part six, the final will come soon

She Waits, Part Four


She Waits, Part One

She Waits, Part Two

She Waits, Part Three

Eyes wide and fixed on him, her eagerness spills out of her, making it difficult for her to be still. She knows that when he begins the Shibari technique, they will experience one another in a way that sets this apart from all other things they do together.

Like a wordless dialogue between them, a rope experience is fluid movement, a dance like no other. Her physical body is being restrained, yet her emotional self is free. There is no clutter in her mind, no worry or trappings of daily business; she is free to link only to him; a symbiotic flow between them. She will feel his body against hers, his emotion flowing from his center, through to the tips of his fingers, and pulsing into her as he winds the jute around and around her. She knows that as he twists and knots and guides the rope onto her body, it will become a part of her, and they become one. And she can’t wait.

Bringing the bundles of rope to the bed where she is still lying on her stomach, he finds her bottom is still slightly pink, and her hands are behind her back as he’s directed. She knows not to laugh, he would take it the wrong way, but she can’t help the grin from forming, she does it every time. When she is a little nervous and excited and aroused, this silly grin deceives her. They’ve been married a long time and luckily, he knows it isn’t a grin of disrespect. In fact, she knows this grin arouses him every time he sees it – he knows the emotion behind the curl of her lips, the slight narrowing of her eyes, the dilating of her pupils. He knows she’s imagining the possibilities, anticipating the feeling of the rope on her skin. Most of all, he knows she craves him, his direction, his command, the primal part of him that is raw and exposed when he is with her like this. She sees the arousal in his eyes, too. It’s almost too much, and now she’s really having trouble being still.

Kneeling on the bed just behind her, he guides her body to a kneeling position. His arms slide around her, embracing her in his warmth as he moves her long hair to the side. Shivering a little, she is otherwise completely still as his lips caress the nape of her neck, leaving behind a faint wetness, a coolness that lingers. He whispers in her ear, “Clavicle.” It seems an odd word to say in such an intimate setting, but it means so much to the both of them. It is the one word between them that is focusing, the word that reminds them that only they exist in this moment, a thread being pulled taut between them. Her own clavicles inspired the use of this word as ‘their word’. He is in love with the dips in her skin there, he always longs to taste them.

As he says their word, he leans in, and with his lips, he traces the bone, letting his tongue slide into the crevice behind it. Now she shudders, her core tightening already, the only movement she knows she can get away with; she couldn’t help it anyway.

Instinctively, her head rests back on his shoulder, his chin locked into the crook of her neck. He slides the silky scarf over her eyes and ties it tightly behind her head. The rope is a bit rough as it begins its journey around the back of her neck, crossing before it reaches her breasts and dips under her arms. “Be still, My Love,” he says, a gentle reminder that she is in his hands and needn’t do anything but feel him. She takes a deep breath, exhales and breathes. The scent which belongs only to him fills the air around her. His breath, in and out, slow and calm, is the only sound in her ears, setting the rhythm for her own.

The rope is prickly on the surface of her skin as his soft fingertips lead it to the precise locations on her frame. His heartbeat, gently pulsing against her back, the tickle of the hair from his chest grazing across the skin of her back as he leans side to side against her, the scratch of his whiskers on her neck and shoulders as he morphs her body into sculpture – these are the only feelings that exist.
The pattern is beautiful as it hugs her dips and curves, crossing and doubling back, knotting in a line down her abdomen. The diamond shape accentuates her femininity, drawing attention to the full roundness of her breasts, the peaks and valleys in her toned muscles, the shape of her hips as they round into her thighs, inviting him to continue to what lies between them. The rope continues between her legs, nestled in her folds, knotting in just the right spot to rest upon the one place that will keep her wanting. It is the rope that binds her body, but it is him that penetrates her soul. They are inexplicably connected.

Now, she no longer waits. She is simply his.

And he will do as he pleases.

She Waits, Part Three


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.


Another swat to each cheek.




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

She Waits, Part Two


She Waits, Part One

Poised and still on the bed, she waits and listens, the air cool on her flesh, goosebumps rippling across her skin. Nipples coming to a peak, she shivers, but not just from the chill. She can’t control her anticipation. It radiates through her, reaching each nerve ending, firing every synapse, her body awake and alive, for him. 

As she keeps her position, the one in which he’s instructed, her thoughts are drawn to him, to his commanding voice, his confident demeanor, his loving eyes. She knows him so well. Every movement and nuance of his body speaks a language only she understands. The dip of his brow, the cock of a shoulder, a tilt of his chin; she registers the emotion in each and absorbs it, feeling it deep within her, in a place she once thought was barren. They are tethered, and she knows he feels it, too. It’s the reason he’s punishing her at all.

Walking down the hall toward the room, his footsteps are rhythmic, the soles of his feet slapping the hardwood slowly and confidently. He is moving with purpose, and she senses he is cool and calm, but hungry. Hungry for her. He has plans for her, she knows, and she can’t help but wonder what they might be. She wonders if those plans will change once he sees that crop balancing on her toes, pointing at him when he enters the room.

The footsteps in the hall are steady until they reach the doorway. There is a slight pause as his pants drop to the floor, and she swears she hears a soft chuckle before the footsteps continue to the side of the bed. She knows better than to turn her head to look at him, that would be too much. Luckily, her head is turned away from the door, so she risks the grin she really can’t stop anyway. This man does something to her. She submits willingly, in a way she barely understands. She must; it is not a want, it is a need. Her submission burns within her, a force she finally decided to stop fighting against not long ago. Yet, as natural as it is, there is this willful force that occupies her, too. It sneaks up within her and almost defies her, walking the line of disapproval and finding ways to test him. She’s not sure if this force is the old her surfacing at times, or if it’s the new her who wishes to see him come alive in his Dominance. It is so damn sexy. Even when she loses she wins, and she knows it. So does he.

Causing her to tremble, she feels his heat as he stands right next to the edge of the bed. Without even looking, she knows he’s standing with his feet almost shoulder’s width apart, his hands behind his back. She imagines he’s trying to be stern, but senses just a touch of amusement. 

“Ahhhh, you’re so beautiful. This position suits you; that neckline, the arch of your back, the curve of that ass, those sexy feet, all for me. My crop, thank you.”

She hears his smile as he gently slides it from her toes. He gives her one quick, hard strike squarely on each ass cheek. 

“That’s for touching my crop without permission.”

She doesn’t dare move or make a sound. With his other hand, his fingertips begin to trace her skin, gliding up her calves to the backs of her thighs. Her breath catches as he rounds the curve of her ass, dipping into her folds, checking to see if she’s wet. 

“Mmmmm. We haven’t even begun and you’re already dripping. This is punishment, you know. I’m going to enjoy watching you squirm.”

When she hears him licking his fingers, she almost comes undone.

“Yes, Sir,” she says with a voice that’s already a little shaky. “I’m ready,” she dares.

~image credit Tumblr

She Waits, Part One



*Some of you who’ve been following for a long while may have read this story a couple years ago. I’ve given it a bit of a facelift, trying to exercise the muscles and begin again to write some short stories. This one has six parts. I hope you enjoy!*

“Yes, Sir,” she replies in a small voice, as she kneels on the edge of the bed, unclothed, watching him turn from in front of her and leave the room. Pulling her feet from under her bottom, she leans backward and stretches out, lying her back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She knows she should move quickly, he might be back in a few minutes, but the air on her nakedness is so comforting, despite the goosebumps that keep rippling across her skin. Breathe, she says to herself, mimicking the words he so often speaks to her when she is nervous. In a long breath, she exhales, closing her eyes. Was it relief? Or nervousness?

For the entire day, as she worked, her thoughts had been occupied with him. He was all she could think about; this was all she could think about. That’s not out of the ordinary, but today was different. 

More than anything, she hates to disappoint him, and he’d explained to her last night that she’d done just that, and she was going to be receiving her first punishment tonight. It had left her feeling weighted and sullen, but also something else, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on. Something that made her smile, inexplicably, and squirm in her office chair.

She had replayed the situation over and over in her mind. Still, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t get over the fact that she is being punished for forgetting his razor blades at the grocery store. A year ago she would have told him to go get his own razor blades or start helping with the grocery list. She would have been angry with him, angry with herself. There would have been so many words left unsaid behind the many that were, a tiptoed, circular dance that would leave them both feeling restless, a knowing that something was left unfinished. Yet, today, she had knelt on the edge of this bed, resolve and calm washing over her. Today, she is preparing herself to accept a punishment. It is deserved, she knows. Desperately, she craves the accountability. She’s harder on herself than anyone else could ever be, and she knows the accountability, his accountability, will allow her to let that go, to begin to forgive herself. But, it’s much more than that.

Just now, as he’d given her his instructions, she’d realized just how overwhelming it is that he’d care enough to actually carry it out, that she means so much to him that he wanted to……that’s the warm feeling that had been swirling around in her belly all day, the delicious anticipation that mixed with the cold churning of nervousness and disappointment in herself.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the look on his face when he told her she would be punished. It matched the face she’d just seen as he’d spoken his instructions. It was stern. It was sexy. It was love.

And it had left her wet and wanting. 

Crawling quickly to the top of the bed, she pushes the pillows out of the way. Wanting nothing more than to please him, her body moves with ease as she carries out his exact instructions. Getting into position, she lies on her belly, her cheek flat against the cool sheet, long hair off to the side exposing her neck. Her eyes close, savoring the silky softness against her thighs as she pulls her knees beneath her. She shivers a little as she spreads her knees apart just a bit, the air sharp as it hits the wet, exposed parts of her.

As she begins to pull her arms behind her back, she sees that he’s laid the crop near the top of the bed. Lips parting in a coy smile, she quickly grabs the crop and places it, perfectly balanced, between her toes, and hurriedly slides the rest of her body back into position. At the last minute, she lifts her legs off the bed, pointing her toes to the sky, a presentation.

It’s a risk, she knows. She waits and she knows.

~photo credit Tumblr