Counting to Ten

My pussy is wet again, soaked at the thought of getting your cock into my mouth again. I hum as I move around the house, trying to keep my thoughts off of what I would really rather be doing. There are chores to finish, and I want the house to be presentable when you get here. I've already taken one break because I needed to finger my pussy. If I stop again, I won't get everything on the list done.

I glance at the clock, then at my list. I have about twenty more minutes until you should be here, and still three things to do. Trying to hurry, I grab the broom and sweep up in the kitchen. Almost unconsciously, I run my hands up and down the length of the broomstick. I remember, in my single days, fucking myself with whatever I could find that even slightly resembled a cock.

I laugh at myself, getting my mind back on the task at hand. I finish sweeping, but there is not enough time to mop before you get home. I go down to the last chore on the list and instantly I regret not reading the entire list first. You had wanted me to go to the store and pick up some supplies.

I groan in disappointment and look at the clock again. Ten minutes? Not enough time. What the fuck am I going to do?

I hear the garage door open and I groan again. You are home early, catching me with two undone chores and wet panties. I run up the stairs, stripping off clothes as I go. I am always to meet you naked, kneeling and waiting for you in the middle of the bedroom. I take a minute to throw my clothes into the hamper, then smooth my hair at the mirror.

I can hear you entering the house through the kitchen, and I know I am caught. I kneel on the floor, my hands resting on the tops of my thighs, my legs open wide, my head down. As I listen to you mount the stairs, I wonder how I am going to explain myself.

Damn. I'm in trouble again.

I glance at your feet as you enter the bedroom. I almost feel sorry for you—you are dressed for work, in a suit and tie, busy all day with meetings and clients. As a teacher, I have the summer off, free to complete chores for you, or nap if I have time. Or watch a porn and get myself off.

When we had first gotten together, you had made the rule that I could not masturbate without permission. But soon you realized that I am often overcome with a wet, aching pussy. I got in trouble a lot for getting off without permission. The rule was dropped when you tired of punishing me. Besides, sometimes you will call home to see if I am laying in bed, fingering myself. How many times have you wanted me to come to the office to relieve you under the desk?

And how many times have I? I giggle at the thought.

"I don't know why you are laughing, little one. You didn't finish your chores, even though you had all day. What the fuck did you do with all the time?" You are angry, I can hear it in your voice. Shit, if you had a bad day on top of me not getting everything done, I'm in trouble.

"I don't know Master. Time just got away from me."

"Little bitch, I don't believe that for a second." I listen to the everyday sounds of you undressing, laying your clothes on the bed. Without being asked, I get up and hang the clothes up neatly, then reach for some loungewear. I want you to be able to relax.

Once changed, you sit down in the chair beside the bed and snap your fingers. Instantly, I am kneeling before you, awaiting your next command. I feel, rather than see, your smile.

"Go get the crop," you order. I stand up to run into the other room, but you grab my hair and keep my on my knees. "Crawl and get it. You will get a swat for every second you are gone, so make it quick."

I bolt across the floor, making you chuckle. Seventy seconds later, I am back in front of you, holding the crop in my mouth. "Only 70 this time pet. Last time you took almost three minutes. What an improvement!"

Yeah, right. Last time you hid the damn thing, and I couldn't find it. You have no idea how pissed off I was... or maybe you do. In any case, I took the 180 swats like a pro. I'd like to think your arm was worn out before my ass, but I doubt that was the case.

"Turn around little bitch. Put your shoulders on the ground and your ass way up in the air." I do as you command, wishing that the carpet gave me more to hold on to. The first ten swats are easy, because you are not swinging that hard. As you begin to swing harder, however, my hands knot into fists and I lock my jaw. After twenty-five swats, tears begin to flow.

At forty swats, I am finding it impossible to stay still. I am moaning and groaning under the crop, trying to get away without really getting away. "Last twenty," I hear you say as the crop falls again and again. Suddenly you stop. "I want you to count the last ten, pet."

Damn. "Yes Master."

One on my upper right thigh, a sweet spot. "One." One on my upper left thigh, another sweet spot. "Two."

"No, no, pet. That was one. Ten on each side. Come on, you know better. Now we have to start over."

Fuck. "Yes Master." Again, one on the right. "One." The crop falls again, another on the left. "One." Suddenly, four in succession on the right. "Two, three, four, five." And then two quick swats on the left. "Two, three." And then you move back to the right. Four on the right. "Four, five, six, seven."

"No, no, pet. That should have been eight on the right. Now we have to start over again." I can almost feel you chuckling.

Five quick swats on the left side. "One, two, three, four, five." Four quick swats on the right side. "One, two, three, four." Two on the left. "Six, seven." You are moving quickly, and I am starting to have trouble remembering what number I am up to on each side. Three more on the right. "Uhhh... five, six, seven." Two on the left. "Damn, I don't know!"

You are almost giggling now, so giddy in your amusement. "Oh, pet, come on. You went to college. You can count to ten. Let's try once more. Ready?"

I grit my teeth. My ass is on fire. "Yes Master."

Eight quick swats on the right side, and I count to eight. Four quick swats on the left side, followed by me counting to four. Two more on the right, and I thankfully finish counting to ten. Two more on the left, and I count "Five, six."

You switch back over to the right, and I don't know how to respond. I stay silent. Big mistake. "Oh, pet, come on. What comes after ten? I know you can do it. Say it with me... e-lev-en. Can you say that? E-lev-en. And then Tw-el-ve. I know you can do it."

I groan. "Does that mean I have to start over?"

"Yes pet."

Fuck. It's going to be a long night.