Discipline

She waits. In the silence of the room, the only sound is the ticking of the clock and the slight rasp of her breath. The leather bonds are tight, yet comfortable against her skin, the only irritation being the fact that she cannot move, yet wouldn’t want to if she could. His word is that she remain here in silence, waiting for him.

And wait she does. Her senses are heightened and she strains to hear him. The blindfold enfolds her face, and she cannot see. But her ears are alert for the slightest sound, waiting eagerly for him, but all she can hear is herself, the sound of her breathing, and the ticking of the clock.

Tick-tock, tick-tock.

The cool, air-conditioned air washes over her body and her skin contracts, goosebumps raising, nipples tightening. She moves slightly, impatiently, but keeps her position; arms stretched above her head, secured by leather cuffs attached to an overhead bar. On her knees on the bed, ankles attached to the spreader bar, legs forced far apart, butt pushed back and slightly raised. Ready for him.

She has been bad. She broke a rule, and she knows she deserves punishment. She expects it, anticipates it, craving the discipline, yet fearing it at the same time. Fear laced with heavy desire, for she wants to please him more than anything. And if she has been bad, she accepts her punishment like a good girl.

She hears a slight movement in the far corner of the room and tenses, excitement pooling in her belly. She is highly aroused and a light sheen coats her skin, despite the chill of the air-conditioning. She longs for release, but knows that she will have to wait for him.

Sir.

She longs for the feel of his hand on her backside, spanking her, caressing her, slipping between her legs to feel how much she wants him.

And want him she does. She can’t imagine ever not wanting him. She belongs to him, willingly, passionately, eternally.

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