Bad Girl

I've been a bad girl-and we both know it.

I didn't mean to lie to you. Honestly I didn't-but when I saw the quick flash of violence that lit up your normally warm amber eyes at the words that seemed to flow so glibly from my lips I panicked and those damn words just kept coming!

But you startled me! I didn't even know you were awake. When you came into the room my mind and body froze because I knew I wasn't supposed to be there, sitting on the couch, phone clutched in one hand...

I was supposed to be naked in your bed; either draped around your body, or cuddled up tight against your belly and chest-depending on if you were sleeping facing me or the wall when I crept back into bed.

You've always been so generous to me, my One, allowing me much excess and excuses where my writing is concerned. I am grateful that it doesn't anger you when my muse whispers it's seductive siren call and lures me from your bed. You allow it. As long as I do not wake you when I slip away and obey your ruling that I must always be back, cuddled or cuddling, before your alarm awakens you.

But this time I failed you.

It all just happened so fast! And I think my nimble, naughty little brain simply went rocketing down the tracks and my tongue followed. Because even as the original anger faded when you saw the phone clutched so tightly in my white knuckled fist, even as the light of understanding went off in your beautiful eyes, my damned stupid trouble making mouth was moving.

"I called the clinic." I blurted. "But they have to call me back so I don't have an appointment yet but they'll probably call me tomorrow or the next day or I'll call them..."

I really was in trouble now.

Because you didn't believe me. I could see it in your eyes. You knew that I HADN'T called the clinic. You knew that I was lying to you, even though it was something I had never, ever done before. But you knew. And you just stood there watching me.

I don't know why the lie popped out instead of the truth-the truth you had immediately deciphered and understood. You knew how scared I was about having to call the clinic and make the appointment. And you knew I had simply lost track of time while trying to force myself to actually complete that simple phone call. If I had just confessed my punishment would have been light as a whisper.

I'm afraid of so many simple, silly little things, and you're trying to help me with that.

You don't really understand why I find it so heart stopping to make a simple Doctor's appointment, or speak up when some one charges me too much, or brings me a meal that's not as I asked for, but you don't berate me or look at me with contempt or disgust. Because you understand that I truly am afraid. I'm not weak, not really. There are just some things that are hard for me.

I didn't lie for any good, real reason-that's the horrible part about this! I knew you weren't going to be really angry with me, knew you would simply arch one aristocratic brow and calmly wait for a quick, succinct explanation-an explanation, not an excuse, because excuses were not accepted or allowed. And then you'd have accepted my equally quick and heartfelt apology.

As for my punishment, you'd probably just have made me call for the next cab we needed, or maybe pay the bill when we lunched together-a "punishment" that would really just be more of the practice that I needed.

So why did I lie to begin with? And why the fuck didn't I bite my tongue and cut off the babbling the minute I realized I knew that you knew? My punishment would have defiantly been worse, because a lie is a lie, and yelping "I take it back!" seconds after the sin, doesn't make the lie go away. But you would have understand that as well, why for that ten, fifteen seconds I'd let that naughty lie lay, and you would have been able to get over your disappointment and forgive me...

I guess I panicked, even knowing you would never hurt me. You startled me. I'd been so in my own world, in my own head, trying to talk myself into being your good girl and doing what you had told me to do, what I had promised you I WOULD do, that when I looked up and you were right THERE, and I saw the anger in your eyes, before it faded into understanding, and the willingness to forgive and move beyond-for a moment I slipped back into being just a little girl lost, regressed just long enough for those lies to spill through trembling lips...

Don't hurt me. Don't hate me. I'm sorry!

And then I just couldn't take it back. Not even back to the first lying and then immediately...taking it back kind of "taking it back".

I had never lied to you, never given you a reason to doubt or wonder. I had angered you many times, especially in our first few months together. I had tried your patience and shied away from giving you total trust. I had been guilty of trying to hide myself, to hold little, deep parts of myself safely secret, but I had never, ever committed the sin of telling a blatant, bold faced lie.

And now I had. Now I had done this horrible, terrible, awful thing and I didn't know how to take it back. I think, maybe a part of me was so panicked that all it could think was...I'll call tomorrow, I'll make the appointment, and if I do that, if I do as you told me to, if I do as I promised...then maybe you won't hate me. Maybe, please God...maybe I won't lose you?

You were still just standing there, looking at me. And even though it felt like hours had passed, I knew it had been no more then just five, ten seconds since my lying lips had stuttered into silence.

"Kitten..."

"I'll call first thing tomorrow morning...to, to check on..."

And you turned your back and walked into the bathroom to start your shower.

"Don't worry about dinner. I'll stop some where." You informed me in a monotone voice.

You showered and were gone, in barely fifteen minutes. And you didn't look at me, or say a single word. And I tried, I tried so hard to find the words, the way to say...I lied, I know you know that I lied and I'm so sorry, just please forgive me.

But I couldn't-and you didn't speak,or even look at me. You just left me like I deserved.

I waited, and I waited...and then I dropped to the soft carpet a broken, boneless, aching wreck and sobbed for hours, biting my wrists to choke the screams that wanted OUT.

You didn't call me,or send me any teasing, sensual text messages.

I spent the night huddled on the couch, wrapped up in a worn, cuddly flannel sheet-even though it was May and already warm, since you never turned the central air on until at least June, you liked to have the windows open, and the house smelling of lilac and cherry blossoms, cut grass and freshly turned soil...

I wondered if this would be my last night ever to spend under your roof.

I thought about just leaving-I hadn't come with much. It would be so easy to just pack what little I'd cared enough about over the years to keep with me and leave, spare you the awkwardness of telling me to get the hell out of your home and life, but...You had told me so many times, touching me in so many ways; your hands cupping my face, your lips breathing it against my throat, my breasts, my pussy...that I belonged to you, that you owned me, that I was yours...and I was. I couldn't leave until you told me to go.

After about six hours I didn't even have enough energy left to cry. My aching dry eyes had no moisture for tears, so I just sat, staring sadly, brokenly...too weary to even think.

When I heard the key turning in the door I froze, startled. It wasn't even three am.

But when the door opened, it was my One standing there, his eyes still blank and frozen. He closed the front door behind him and just stood there, looking at me.

I thought...oh God, I fucked up again! I should have left. I can't do anything right, I never do anything right!

"I'm sorry Sir, I-I lost track of time, I was going to be gone..."

"If I'd had to track you down girl...he begin, his deep, smooth voice almost a snarl, and suddenly, for the first time ever, I WAS afraid of him.

I fought my way free of the clinging flannel sheet and dropped heavily to my knees, just in front of the couch, too frightened and leaden limb'ed to crawl the dozen feet to him, where he stool, still just barely inside the front door.

"Sir!" I blurted. "I lied! I'm so sorry Sir-I didn't call the clinic and I don't know why I lied but..."

"You lied because you were afraid of me. What have I ever done to you to deserve that reaction?" He asked me quietly. "I know your past, but I thought you had begin to trust me. Am I just wasting both our time? Should I just let you go?"

I'd rather he just killed me then that, I thought, and I realized something. I hadn't lied because I was scared of him. It wasn't the anger in his eyes that had made that stupid lie pop out. It was that next fraction of a second when I watched the anger fade into understanding and I'd felt so bad that I hadn't been true to him, and done as I'd been told...that for one idiotic instant, long enough for my tongue to blurt out the words...lying had seemed better then disappointing him.

"I didn't lie because I was afraid of you Sir." I whispered softly. "I lied because I didn't want to disappoint you." I had kept my eyes downcast through my short speech. Normally he wanted me to look at him, because he said my green gold eyes were the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen. He told me I had Fairy eyes, and he liked to watch the blues and grays and ambers that swirled within the olive green band that rimmed my eyes.

When he fucked me, when he took me missionary style, he tangled his fingers in my long ash blond curls to hold my head still and stared down into my eyes, because he said they glittered their purest green gold when my body hit orgasm. He'd had to break me of my habit of closing my eyes when I came, and it hadn't been an easy task.

He made a funny, choked off sound, almost like he'd strangled a laugh. But when I dared a quick peek, his face was still stern and stiff.

"Do you know how bloody stupid that sounds?" He growled. "You lied to NOT disappoint me? Care to explain how the fuck that makes sense?"

I really did know how stupid that sounded. And to be honest, I really, really did NOT want to try and explain why it had seemed to make sense for that short, insane semi second. But I couldn't exactly say "no Sir I don't care to try and explain."

I could swear fierce fully and forcefully well under my breath for half a second, and spare a moment to remember the days when I'd probably have lost my temper and thrown something-not at anyone of course, but I'd cost Sir the expense of close to half a dozen of the cell phones he'd bought for me, and gained myself a lot of spankings and even worse, torturous hours spent standing in a corner with my feet and nose touching the wall.

I HATE standing still, and I'm not very good at it, even today. But in the beginning, when he would add minutes if I didn't stand perfectly still a five minute "timeout" could turn into five hours, and end with me dropping to curl up bawling in my corner when he finally released me.

I'd try so hard to stand still, you see. Because I WAS always sorry when I'd done wrong. It took him mere weeks to break me of my sneaky habit of trying to talk my way out of punishment because I didn't need that defense with him. His punishments weren't like the ones in my past, that I'd HAD to learn defenses against.

So when he was finally able to release me from the punishment I'd earned for myself-when I'd finally done my penance and earned my forgiveness, I'd curl up and cry because I was ashamed that it had taken so long, that I was so unable to stand still as told, that I had disappointed and wasted all those hours for Sir. I'd sob out choked apologies and he would come to me in my corner and sit down and pull me into his lap, not minding when I bawled soggily and snuffled against the expensive fabrics of his shirt. He'd hold me and run his fingers through my long, tousled curls, kiss the top of my head and whisper that it was OK, it was finished, I was forgiven.

He'd hold me until I was calm enough to become aware of the hard hunger of his erection stiffening powerfully under my bottom, and then he'd whisper to me.

"Does my bad girl want to make daddy feel good?"

I loved it like that. It was almost worth the punishment of standing against the wall for all those hours-if you could take away the sick, leaden feel that still lingered in my belly, the shame of being a Bad Girl in a way that wasn't sexual, sensual, playing games.

I don't like being a for real Bad Girl, not to my One.

What we had, what we did, how it was-it only happened right there, in that corner. It was a "special" kind of sex. It was Bad Girl sex.

I'd squirm my way off his lap, to kneel between his sprawled wide thighs, dressed just in tiny, pretty silken panties and a tank top,or a chopped up, sexily mutilated T, and look up at him,always dressed so impeccably compared to myself and whisper softly, shyly...begging.

"Yes please."

Turned me on so badly...he always did but looking at him, while I kneeled between his wide spread thighs, gods! He looked every inch the arrogant, confident, successful male and Master that he was, and I knew...I knew that I looked like a pretty little toy made to be used, just a sweet mouthed,owned, fuckable bitch.

He was every woman's dream-and it was me who had made that luscious cock hard. It was me that his hot, hungry, aroused eyes were glued to. It was me he wanted. His Bad Girl.

He'd let me eat him up with my eyes for a little while...sometimes just a second or two when he really, really wanted my mouth swallowing his hard cock, my fingers flowing over his silken shaft and swelling balls, then he'd growl under his breath and roughly yank his zipper down, not caring if it broke, or tore the fabric of his fine trousers, to release his cock and balls, and his hand would grab me behind the neck, hard, almost hurting...

"Suck me off, you beautiful little bitch-and if you spill even one drop, you're going right back in that fucking corner!"

He'd pull me down, taking ME, even as I opened my mouth, eager to swallow his swollen, weeping wet shaft deep into my convulsing throat.

He's big, my One, not porn star hung, but big enough that I can't really take him all the way. Except when we're in that corner. Because then he just takes me; he pushes his hips up, and pushes down on the back of my head, and I swallow desperately, fighting against the gag reflex to take him in so deep that my nose is nestled against the smooth skin of his lower belly, and I can flick my nimble tongue out and lick his balls.

When we're in that corner, he fucks ME. I'm good at giving him oral pleasure. I'm very good at it. I know how he likes to be sucked, how he likes to be licked. I know just what to do with my hands, and how he likes his balls caressed. I know that he loves the way I glide the long nailed fingers of one hand over his belly and hip, while the other strokes his shaft and plays teasingly with his scrotum.

But in that corner...it's all about his taking; taking me, my mouth, my throat, just using me, and I love it.

He always finishes quickly. He explained it to me once, deeply sated.

"I make you take your punishment half naked because you're so damn clever about unconsciously trying to move, when you're in the corner. I know you're not doing it intentionally-hell kalli girl I doubt you even know you're doing it, and if you weren't half naked, I wouldn't know either...but watching you tense and release that beautiful ass makes me hard enough to fuck a steel wall."

"Damn it girl, I asked you a question!"

I jolted free of my musing, and my eyes flew up to his, startled, shamed-and aroused.

"You put up with so much Sir. I know how much trouble I must be to you. I know how fucked up I am and you deserve better then someone like me..."

A soft snarl stopped my words cold.

"I see. So you are presuming to suggest that you know better then me what I want, what I am looking for or what I need in a submissive? Is that what you're saying?"

How was it that I kept digging myself in deeper and deeper? I hadn't thought it was possible for things to get worse-should have known I'd find a way.

"Oh no Sir, I'd never, I didn't mean..."

He cut me off with a sharp, slashing motion.

"Let's just try and keep this simple. You say you didn't lie out of fear, I'm willing to entertain the idea that you might be telling the truth there. Six months ago you were bloody well chucking phones and books and fuck all what else at my head-safe to assume you're not intimidated by me."

I felt he was being a little unfair there. I'd never thrown anything even close to his head! But once again, not a good time to lodge a complaint. As far as being intimidated by him though...

"You intimidate the heck out of me when you're mad at me! I'm just not scared cuz you'd never for real hurt me you du...."

Awk! I slapped both hands over my mouth so hard I nearly knocked myself unconscious. But at least I didn't call him the Polish word for dumb ass that he'd inadvertently taught me months ago.

We stared at each other from the twelve feet that still separated-and I fought to keep the welling up tears from spilling down my cheeks.

"Fuck..." He sighed, looking drawn and exhausted. "Kalli girl-just tell me. Why did you lie about it...and when you knew I KNEW, just...why?"

"You...you weren't gonna be mad." I whimpered hoarsely. "I could see it...the anger dying when you understood why I wasn't in bed for you to wake up to. It was gonna be OK that I wasn't in bed cuz I was trying to do something big and bad and scary that I'd promised you I'd do...but I didn't do it and I didn't want you disappointed and I knew it was stupid but that's why I lied and then I couldn't take it backkkkkk!" I wailed, collapsing into a hysterical, violently crying heap.

I dragged the comfort of my flannel sheet up and over my head, knowing how ridiculous I was being. If this was my last "hurrah" I was doing a shit job of it. On top of every thing else, I was regressing back to using words like gonna and cuz. He hated it when I talked like that, all fourteen and white trash Cali Valley girl. We'd both hated the months it had taken him to break me of that habit.

Every time I'd used wanna or gonna or cuz...even just OK, he'd immediately stop me.

"Wanna? I think you mean to say want to." He'd correct.

It got so bad I even started saying "you know" again after every sentence. My mom had hated that one. For a year back in junior high I hadn't said more then yes or no around her. Not talking meant one less thing for her to attack me about.

I DID hate being corrected by him every 2 minutes, but I knew I talked trailer trash, and I hated that more. I'm not stupid, I'd just fallen into the lazy habit of talking like the people I'd grown up around.

I pulled my sheet tighter around me and fought to choke my sobs back. I wanted to be able to leave with some dignity when he told me to get out of his house and life.

But he didn't say anything. I didn't hear him move or even breathe. Hell the only reason I knew he was even still in the house was because I hadn't heard any doors open.

I whimpered softly...now what? I was starting to feel beyond stupid huddled under my "blanky". But I just couldn't bring myself to...

"Get rid of that fucking sheet!" He roared.

I eeped and fought free of the clinging material. Flinging it behind me and staring up at Sir, who was standing, towering and glowering, a mere foot in front of me.

"I'm sorry S..."

"I didn't give you permission to speak."

I bit my lip and lowered my eyes...and he dropped to his knees in front of me, still towering and intimidating. I'm not little-but Sir is tall.