Sunday, December 04, 2005
I try to turn over without actually touching the table, because just resting my backside on the table will be bad enough, without dragging it along as I roll over.
Finaly, I lower myself onto the table with a wince, and I look up at you. My top and bra have fallen completely open and you reach out and tweak a nipple. I'm anticipating what is coming so completely that I jump at your touch. And land flat back on the welts.
You lean over and look me directly in the eye. You no longer look angry, but you certainly haven't forgiven me yet, either. There is more to come, and as you lean in to kiss me on the forehead you murmur, "Never ignore me in favor of another man again. You are mine. Perhaps now you will remember that."
A quick kiss on the forehead, and you straighten up, raising the cane as you do so. I turn my head so I don't have to see it coming, and you growl that I am to look at you while I am being punished. As I turn my fact back toward you, I see your arm come down in a giant arc and slam the cane across my breasts. "That is one, slut. I expect you to count from here on."
Whack! "Two."
"Three." "Four." All landing in a series of parallel lines across my breasts, and all creating welts that will last well into the afternoon. I watch as you raise your arm once again, and see the gleam in your eyes that tells me I'm going to be crying soon.
"Aah!" I exclaim as the cane slaps across my nipples. "Five, Sir," I sob. You once again place your face close to mine and you watch as the tears form and begin to slide down my cheeks and drip onto the table. I don't know if you enjoy seeing me cry, or if it annoys or worries you, but I do know that when I disappoint you, you make certain that tears are always one of the results. And it isn't the physical pain so much as that horrible fear that one of these days I'm going to say or do something and you will stop loving me. That's what brings on the tears.
"That will do, Slut - for now. You may get up."
Finaly, I lower myself onto the table with a wince, and I look up at you. My top and bra have fallen completely open and you reach out and tweak a nipple. I'm anticipating what is coming so completely that I jump at your touch. And land flat back on the welts.
You lean over and look me directly in the eye. You no longer look angry, but you certainly haven't forgiven me yet, either. There is more to come, and as you lean in to kiss me on the forehead you murmur, "Never ignore me in favor of another man again. You are mine. Perhaps now you will remember that."
A quick kiss on the forehead, and you straighten up, raising the cane as you do so. I turn my head so I don't have to see it coming, and you growl that I am to look at you while I am being punished. As I turn my fact back toward you, I see your arm come down in a giant arc and slam the cane across my breasts. "That is one, slut. I expect you to count from here on."
Whack! "Two."
"Three." "Four." All landing in a series of parallel lines across my breasts, and all creating welts that will last well into the afternoon. I watch as you raise your arm once again, and see the gleam in your eyes that tells me I'm going to be crying soon.
"Aah!" I exclaim as the cane slaps across my nipples. "Five, Sir," I sob. You once again place your face close to mine and you watch as the tears form and begin to slide down my cheeks and drip onto the table. I don't know if you enjoy seeing me cry, or if it annoys or worries you, but I do know that when I disappoint you, you make certain that tears are always one of the results. And it isn't the physical pain so much as that horrible fear that one of these days I'm going to say or do something and you will stop loving me. That's what brings on the tears.
"That will do, Slut - for now. You may get up."
