Don’t worry about cooking for me. I’ll grab something at the canteen before I leave.’
‘I won’t be able to eat,’ I said, with woeful visage. ‘I’ll be too nervous.’
‘If you don’t eat, you know what happens,’ he said.
I felt a strange sense-memory twinge of the buttocks.
Yes. I knew that all right.
As it went, I didn’t feel tense at work at all. I felt excited, the way I used to before a big date before we were married. After all, this wasn’t real punishment. It was fun kinkiness with a pretendy layer of punishment on top. Perhaps that was what I wanted all along, and the ‘for your own good’ stuff had been the precursor. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, or felt half the thrill of anticipation, though, if I didn’t have the experience and the undertone of ‘real’ punishment. ‘Let’s play whipping tonight’ just wouldn’t have worked for me – and yet that was what this was, essentially.
I had plenty of time to wonder what would happen when he got home.
I picked at a baked potato and flicked between TV channels, but nothing went in – mouth or brain, really.
I tried to get The Book back out of its box file, but it wasn’t there any more. Dan had re-hidden it, which was a bit stable door and bolting horse, but it still annoyed me. I wanted to reread some of it, for preparation.
I didn’t know what to wear and texted him after washing the few dishes.
‘Your short PJs will do,’ he texted back. ‘Wait for me in the bedroom.’
I found The Book in his bedside drawer once I’d changed into the cotton short pyjamas. He had a bookmark in it. It was the chapter on Anal Discipline.
I shut it quickly and took a few breaths.
Just because he was reading that chapter, it didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. Did it?
I clenched my sphincter and tried to get involved in reading my own book, but I couldn’t possibly concentrate and the same sentence tried unsuccessfully to hammer its way into my brain over and over again.
I was no closer to processing the words when I heard the key in the lock.
My heart began to thunder and my ears to roar. I put the book down then picked it back up again, trying to look natural.
Be relaxed, I told myself. Be casual. He won’t expect it.
He came into the room, looking slightly crumpled after a long shift on a hot day, with rolled-up shirtsleeves and a pinkish tinge to his skin.
‘Hi,’ I said. I tried to sound nonchalant, not sure it came off.
‘Well, good evening,’ he said, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. ‘Could we have the book down, please?’
‘Since you’re asking nicely,’ I said pertly, placing it on the bedside table.
His eyebrows crept higher.
‘And if I didn’t?’ he asked with deceptive politeness.
I felt the delicious danger prickle at my skin.
I shrugged, sniggering self-consciously, like a kid caught passing notes in class.
‘Lie down on your stomach,’ he said.
I had been expecting more banter before business so I didn’t react straightaway, until he took a step closer to me and then I threw myself face down on the duvet, hiding in its clean, comfortable folds.
‘So,’ he said, and the mattress groaned under his weight. He straddled me, his knees either side of my thighs, my legs pressed down. ‘I’m your bitch, am I?’
‘No,’ I giggled.
‘But that’s what your friends think I am. Your friends think that I crawl around this flat on my hands and knees in tight leather shorts, until you decide to take them down and thrash my arse. Don’t they?’
‘Maybe something like that,’ I mumbled.
‘Yeah, maybe something like that. Do you know what I think you should do? I think you should call them up on the phone later on and describe some of the things that I’ve done to you. Do you think that’s fair?’
‘Depends what you do,’ I said. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t made my final decision yet,’ he said. ‘But you can be fairly sure that these aren’t
‘I won’t be able to eat,’ I said, with woeful visage. ‘I’ll be too nervous.’
‘If you don’t eat, you know what happens,’ he said.
I felt a strange sense-memory twinge of the buttocks.
Yes. I knew that all right.
As it went, I didn’t feel tense at work at all. I felt excited, the way I used to before a big date before we were married. After all, this wasn’t real punishment. It was fun kinkiness with a pretendy layer of punishment on top. Perhaps that was what I wanted all along, and the ‘for your own good’ stuff had been the precursor. I wouldn’t have enjoyed it, or felt half the thrill of anticipation, though, if I didn’t have the experience and the undertone of ‘real’ punishment. ‘Let’s play whipping tonight’ just wouldn’t have worked for me – and yet that was what this was, essentially.
I had plenty of time to wonder what would happen when he got home.
I picked at a baked potato and flicked between TV channels, but nothing went in – mouth or brain, really.
I tried to get The Book back out of its box file, but it wasn’t there any more. Dan had re-hidden it, which was a bit stable door and bolting horse, but it still annoyed me. I wanted to reread some of it, for preparation.
I didn’t know what to wear and texted him after washing the few dishes.
‘Your short PJs will do,’ he texted back. ‘Wait for me in the bedroom.’
I found The Book in his bedside drawer once I’d changed into the cotton short pyjamas. He had a bookmark in it. It was the chapter on Anal Discipline.
I shut it quickly and took a few breaths.
Just because he was reading that chapter, it didn’t mean he was going to do anything about it. Did it?
I clenched my sphincter and tried to get involved in reading my own book, but I couldn’t possibly concentrate and the same sentence tried unsuccessfully to hammer its way into my brain over and over again.
I was no closer to processing the words when I heard the key in the lock.
My heart began to thunder and my ears to roar. I put the book down then picked it back up again, trying to look natural.
Be relaxed, I told myself. Be casual. He won’t expect it.
He came into the room, looking slightly crumpled after a long shift on a hot day, with rolled-up shirtsleeves and a pinkish tinge to his skin.
‘Hi,’ I said. I tried to sound nonchalant, not sure it came off.
‘Well, good evening,’ he said, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. ‘Could we have the book down, please?’
‘Since you’re asking nicely,’ I said pertly, placing it on the bedside table.
His eyebrows crept higher.
‘And if I didn’t?’ he asked with deceptive politeness.
I felt the delicious danger prickle at my skin.
I shrugged, sniggering self-consciously, like a kid caught passing notes in class.
‘Lie down on your stomach,’ he said.
I had been expecting more banter before business so I didn’t react straightaway, until he took a step closer to me and then I threw myself face down on the duvet, hiding in its clean, comfortable folds.
‘So,’ he said, and the mattress groaned under his weight. He straddled me, his knees either side of my thighs, my legs pressed down. ‘I’m your bitch, am I?’
‘No,’ I giggled.
‘But that’s what your friends think I am. Your friends think that I crawl around this flat on my hands and knees in tight leather shorts, until you decide to take them down and thrash my arse. Don’t they?’
‘Maybe something like that,’ I mumbled.
‘Yeah, maybe something like that. Do you know what I think you should do? I think you should call them up on the phone later on and describe some of the things that I’ve done to you. Do you think that’s fair?’
‘Depends what you do,’ I said. ‘What are you going to do?’
‘I haven’t made my final decision yet,’ he said. ‘But you can be fairly sure that these aren’t
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