Reading Time: 5minutes I forgot my training entirely and avidly watched my Mistress cross the floor. Her bare feet caressing the Dorm tile as she stalked me. The black demon was hanging from her hand assuming a life of it's own as it danced in the light. I was entranced.
I forgot my training entirely and avidly watched my Mistress cross the floor. Her bare feet caressing the Dorm tile as she stalked me. The black demon was hanging from her hand assuming a life of it’s own as it danced in the light. I was entranced. As the serpent entices its victim the black demon hypnotized me. My Mistress watched my eyes and seemingly read my thoughts, for she handed the serpent off to Mark. My Master. I shivered at the thought that I was calling any man such, that You have inspired that confidence in me, in Him. Feeling no attention resting on my disrespectful self, I continued to watch. My Mistress walked to her vanity and picked up the antique rosewood hairbrush and turned. Our eyes locked.
In that instant in the meeting and mating of our gazes, I saw the shop where we were browsing. The smells of old wood and leather and oils. The richness of the ages. And you, Mistress, finding delight in a find, a find that has, in all due courses, polished the rears of many it’s known. As well as my rear. The first time it was used on my naughty bottom, I remember howling as a trod upon cat. I remembered and shared the memory with you of the many time I had pulled the bristles through your long red hair. Wishing upon wish that I could lose, or accidentally throw out your brush. Yet, not daring, as the brush was the first action we shared every morning and one of the last tender caresses of the night. I saw your eyes soften almost imperceptibly before hardening again. I saw your chest expand in a deep breath that was surely the precursor of wearing lecture.
“Stand up, my precious.” The velvet sound of your voice was deceptively tender. You were at the bed without my realizing how you got there. I blinked and arose, less than gracefully. My knees shook as I walked to face you. Without a thought except to your pleasure I crossed my wrists in the small of my back and waited. The cool tiles seemingly hot under my bare feet.
“This is not your punishment for your prank, that will come later. This is simply due to your inconsiderate timing that you forced me to stand up someone I care about.” Your eyes trailed me form head to toe. “Do you understand that, precious?”
Feeling oh so small, I nodded, wishing I could shrink into the floor and disappear. Time slowed to a crawl as I stood in front of you. Swearing to myself to accept the brush and my punishment gracefully and as quietly as possible, I memorized the pattern in the tile by your left foot. Your hand grasping my wrist did not come as a shock and I settled across your left knee. I spread my legs as wide as I could, shifting to rest my upper body on the bed, trying to avoid muscle cramps that would make being good that much more difficult. I squeezed my eyes as tightly shut as I could thinking the absence of light would somehow block the streaks of white hot pain behind my eyelids. I was wrong.
The first blow of the brush smacked my ass. Right in the center, an oval kiss of fire, I gritted my teeth and hoped to endure. How I hated the brush. I willed myself silent as the brush rose and fell with astonishing regularity. The heat blossomed and spread across the centers of my cheeks as small whimpers penetrated the droning smacks of the brush. I was surprised to find those noises coming from my own throat. The brush energized me and soon I was bounding on Mistress’ lap. Shifting and squirming as if to escape the furious blows from her brush, I cried out softly with every blow. Gone were all thoughts of silence and grace as I tried to communicate my repentance.
The first blow on my thighs exploded and cut my breath off. Lurching forward my body slammed against her leg a scream torn from my throat as my already abused thighs received attention. Murmuring apologies I struggled back into position to be rewarded with more scalding blows to my thighs. My unfortunate break in position was answered by an ignominious tumble onto the bed. I heard my Mistress as from afar tell me to roll over on my back and raise my legs. The tears in my eyes distorted and refracted what little I could see peeking out from behind my legs. My hands strained at the backs of my knees to keep them up no matter the punishment.
I did not have long to wait as Mistress placed intense blows precisely up and down one thigh at a time. The brush found every welt left by Master’s braided belt and flattened it, pushing it in and allowing it to swell outwards with new pain and renewed throbbing. I found myself drifting into the other world where nothing existed but to please Her, to show her that I would do anything to be her good girl once more.
When my thighs were the same hot throbbing pulsating color as my bottom, Mistress stopped. I knew the brush was right in front of my lips and without opening my eyes I kissed the wood gasping at how hot it was.
“You almost set it on fire, precious.” Mistress chuckled. “Now, in the corner. I want you to have ample time to think what you have done and how I am going to punish you for it.”
I dropped my legs and rolled up to a sitting position on the bed. The coverlet scratched every welt and sent jolts upwards, tiny remembrances of pain. Not that I needed reminding! I jumped up and scooted to the corner. It was almost a relief to have their combined attentions off of me for the moment. Placing my hands at the back of my neck I concentrated on slowing and calming my breathing. The desire and need to rub my thighs, (and my bottom! but mostly my thighs), was running through my head over and over. I shifted from foot to foot in a futile attempt to alleviate the burning. I imagined I could physically feel the heat rising in waves up my back and across my hands.
I was so distracted my analyzing my physical state that the soft murmurings behind me held no meaning.
It was only when my Mistress laughed, a rich sound that washed over me and broke me from my ruminations. I tipped my ear slightly in her direction not daring a look back. Another rich laugh and I heard the phone caught gently in the cradle.
“Come here, precious.”
I turned on one heel and padded softly on bare feet to my Mistress.
“Lie down.” She said, pointing to the bed.
I quickly lay down on my stomach and prayed she would not make me turn over. I felt the soft cotton rope encircle my wrists and pull snug. Her fingers slipped in between the rope and my hands to check that it was not too tight. The other end was secured to a ring in the wall at the head of the bed.
“Don’t make me regret allowing you the bed.” Her hand patted my bottom, sending shocks, real or imagined, through my body. Not trusting my voice, I simply shook my head.
“You may untie yourself to use the bathroom, and when you awake. But otherwise this is to remind you,” her hand caressed the ropes around my wrists, “NOT to rub. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Mark and I are going to breakfast. Sleep well, precious.”
The door closing was the last thing I heard before falling into a very deep sleep.
Coleen is a writer, photographer and film maker at Wasteland and Sssh.com.
Here at BDSMCafe.com, she is editor and curator of this comprehensive library of BDSM fiction, informational articles and other educational features that date back to the early days of the internet in 1996 when the site was first launched.
